The following day came with an almost unreal silence. Torn between incredulity and the unnerving realization that the pieces finally fit, I had spent the whole of the night flipping Owen's business card over in my hand. The letters, the too-familiar feelings... they belonged to him. His objectives, which I was unaware of at the time, had tainted the amicable catch-up. I struggled to catch my breath now as I pushed open the entrance to the modern, minimalist foyer of M&T Galleries. I accepted Owen's invitation to come here prior to the discovery. Now that I knew what I had done, facing him was like taking a stage without a script. "Samantha," Owen gave me a friendly greeting in a relaxed, well-known voice. His effortless smile remained intact as he waited close to the receptionist's desk, looking dapper in a charcoal-gray jacket. I forced myself to grin and said, "Owen." "Come on," he replied, pointing to the corridor. "After I show you the area, we can have a conversation.
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