The ride up to my apartment was silent.

The music in the elevator was soft and cheerful, mocking the tension in the air.

Alexander stared at his phone, his thumb scrolling rapidly.

“The stock is already down three percent,” he said.

“And it has only been online for ten minutes.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked up at me, his eyes tired.

“I don’t care about the stock, Emma.”

“I care about our sons.”

“They are going to see this.”

“They are seven,” I said.

“They don’t read the financial news.”

“But they will see the reporters outside,” he said.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened onto my floor.

We walked down the hallway to my door.

I unlocked it with trembling hands.

Inside, the apartment was warm and quiet.

Lucas and Noah were sitting at the kitchen table.

They had a box of Lego bricks scattered between them.

Margaret Wells was sitting on the sofa, her laptop open on her knees.

She looked up as we walked in.

Her face was pale.

“You saw it,” she said.

“Yes,” Alexander said.