There was no sign, only a brass number plate beside a heavy, wrought-iron gate.

“Here we are,” the driver said.

I paid him with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from my pocket and stepped out into the freezing air.

The rain soaked through my thin coat immediately, chilling me to the bone.

I walked up the stone steps, my boots slipping slightly on the wet marble.

A sleek black scanner was mounted to the left of the mahogany door, its tiny red light blinking.

I pressed the keycard against the glass.

The light flashed green, and a heavy magnetic lock clicked open with a dull thud.

I pushed the door and stepped inside.

The lobby was warm and smelled of expensive cedarwood and fresh lilies.

A fire crackled in a limestone hearth, casting long shadows across a plush, oriental rug.

There was no reception desk, no security guard, and no directory.

It looked like the private lobby of a wealthy executive’s penthouse.

In the far corner, a single elevator stood with its brass doors closed.

I walked over, my wet boots leaving dark tracks on the polished wood floor.