With facts and figures swirling in her head like a hurricane, Addison was riding an adrenaline high when she climbed into the 1952 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith to go home. If it had been up to her, she would have told George to take her to the Langham where, at the hands of Luce Gainsford, she would have had her energy pleasantly depleted, but knowing the woman was on holiday in Spain left Addison with only one option. It was an option she knew all too well.

As soon as she was old enough to reach the pedals on the stationary bike, she had begun spending a few hours every night in the exercise room one floor below her father’s office. Waiting until liquor took him to his own dreamless sleep, when his snoring could be heard from the games room, she would creep into his office, descend the spiral stairs and exercise until her young body gleamed with sweat. Like everything in her life, she would push herself, forcing a few more minutes on the bike or a few more laps in the pool until she barely had the strength to make it back to her room. Collapsing on her bed, sleep would come, and if she were lucky, for a few hours, her mind would quiet. She wasn’t lucky often, but upon losing her virginity at the age of fifteen, obtaining a prescription for sleeping pills at the age of eighteen, and developing a taste for scotch before she reached twenty, Addison had hit the trifecta...at least when it came to sleeping.

Coming to the end of her twentieth lap, Addison slowed her stroke and glided to the wall, pulling off her goggles and tossing them on the deck before resting one hand on the side of the pool. She took a moment to catch her breath, and after running her fingers through her hair, she slowly scissor-kicked her way to the ladder in the corner.