The elevator ride down felt agonizingly slow.

I stepped back out into the rain and hailed another cab.

“The Vanguard Private Bank building on Broad Street,” I told the driver.

As we drove south, the rain began to fall harder, drumming a relentless beat against the roof of the cab.

I watched the windshield wipers sweep back and forth, clearing the glass only for it to be covered again instantly.

It felt like my life over the past few weeks—trying to see the truth through a constant downpour of lies.

I took out my phone and called Mia.

She was at her private school in Brooklyn, and I wanted to hear her voice.

“Mom?” she answered, her voice quiet, likely taking the call in the hallway between classes.

“Hi, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, just studying for chemistry,” she said. “Is everything alright? You sound tired.”

“I am just dealing with some work things,” I said. “I wanted to let you know I might be a little late getting home tonight.”

“Is Dad with you?” she asked.