Marcus arrives in four minutes.I know because I count them. I am standing at the conference room window watching the city do its indifferent thing while Lucian is on the phone in the corridor and Isabella is very still at the table behind me, her hands folded over the manila envelope like she is holding it down.Four minutes is fast, even for Marcus.Which means he already knew.He comes through the door with his phone in one hand and a tablet in the other, takes one look at Isabella, one look at me, and says to Lucian, who has followed him in, “We have a twenty-minute window before this goes from a gossip alert to a full news cycle. Maybe less.”“Then we use it,” Lucian says.“I need the floor cleared and a statement drafted in the next ten minutes.” Marcus sets the tablet on the table without sitting down. “Something measured. Acknowledges nothing, denies nothing, requests privacy.”“No,” I say.Both of them look at me.“A statement that acknowledges nothing reads as guilt,” I say.
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