“I don’ think I leave this place so big open wit’ so many kaboodle around,” says Cookie, pointing at the oil paintings on the walls, the crystal chandeliers, the heavy silverware. Cookie said it was his understanding there would be no locks on the doors, and there weren’t. The street door was open, no concierge, a sign at the elevator, pointing everybody up here to the penthouse, which was wide open. “Rich guys don’t care,” the woman says.

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