The Cost of Silence and the Fall of Hayes Development
“Be careful, Nathan,” I said.
“I am,” he said. “Get to your lawyer’s office. Call me when the papers are filed.”
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone and stared at the dark screen.
The cab driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror.
“Almost there, ma’am,” he said, turning the wheel.
“Thank you,” I said.
The cab pulled up to the curb in front of a tall, dark glass tower.
I paid the driver in cash, counting out three wet twenty-dollar bills from my wallet.
The wind caught my coat as I stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The air in Miami was warm and heavy, thick with the scent of incoming salt water and exhaust fumes.
I walked through the revolving doors into the lobby.
The floor was white marble, polished so brightly that it reflected the yellow lights of the ceiling.
My heels made a sharp, clicking sound on the stone.
The security guard at the desk looked up and nodded.
“Forty-second floor,” he said, pointing to the elevator bank.
I pressed the silver button for the elevator.