He listened for a moment, then nodded.

“I am sending my private security team to the building right now. They will be there in ten minutes to secure the perimeter.”

He hung up the phone and handed it back to me.

“We need to get to Chicago,” he said.

“The weather is turning,” I said, looking out at the thick fog now pressing against the penthouse windows.

“The airports might be grounded.”

“We’ll take the train if we have to, or drive,” Blake said.

“But we are going.”

He grabbed his coat from the chair, but before we could move toward the door, the penthouse landline phone on the desk began to ring.

A red light flashed on the console.

It was the building’s front desk.

Blake walked over and picked up the receiver.

“Yes?” he said.

He listened, his face hardening into granite.

“Hold them in the lobby,” he said.

“Do not let anyone up the elevator.”

He slammed the receiver down and looked at me.

“They’re here too,” Blake said.

“The lobby is full of reporters.”