A single light was on in the lobby.

We walked inside, our wet shoes squeaking on the tile.

Sitting on the bench near the elevator was a woman I hadn’t seen in ten years.

It wasn’t Caleb.

It was Grant’s administrative assistant, Helen, holding a leather-bound book in her lap.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear.

“Vivian,” she said, her voice trembling. “He knows I’m here.”

Behind her, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

A tall man stepped out into the lobby.

It was Grant’s lawyer.

He held a white envelope in his hand.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said.

He looked at Helen, then at me.

“I believe we have some business to discuss before the morning.”

I stood my ground, my hands curling into fists.

“We have nothing to say to you,” Diane said, stepping in front of me.

The lawyer smiled and tapped the white envelope against his palm.

“I think you do,” he said.

“Because if you don’t sign this agreement in the next ten minutes, the police will be arriving at this office with a warrant for your arrest.”