Her scuffed brown Ralph Lauren lace-up paddock boots were silent on the sidewalk as she made her way toward the townhouse, a pair of huge tortoiseshell Céline sunglasses masking her enormous navy blue eyes. A bicyclist paused to let her pass. Park Avenue wasn’t as wide as she remembered, ant the tulips in the median were long gone. A bored doorman glared accusingly at her as she turned the corner, the green awning above him casting a gloomy shadow across her path. Soon the iron gates of Nate Archibald’s stately limestone townhouse loomed before her. Serena tightened the belt of the translucent brown plaid plastic Burberry trench coat she’d purchased from Bluefly.com in case things got messy—the only item of clothing she’d ever bought online, off-season, and at a discount—took a deep breath, and rang the bell.