“It was such a relief to get your email,” said Aidan Glass, through the speaker of Anya’s phone.
“I was heartbroken to hear about your daughter,” Anya replied. “Getting in touch was the least I could do.”
“And you’re sure she’s in London?”
“I met with him—her—just yesterday. My chief of security tracked her back to a hotel nearby.”
“Then I’ll get on a train right away,” Glass said. “I’m sorry for any trouble Tamsin might have caused you, Ms. Clay. She’s—she’s not well.”
“I understand,” Anya said with a mournful sigh. “It’s a tragedy, really—so many girls like her, brainwashed into destroying themselves.”
“We looked into therapy. Even found a clinic that specialises in cases like Tamsin’s. But the fees—we just can’t afford it.”
Now that was an interesting thought. “And if you could?”
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