The elevator slowed down and came to a halt with a heavy metallic clank.

I slid the gate open and stepped onto the 40th floor.

The floor was a vast, open space of raw concrete pillars and exposed ceiling pipes.

In the center stood a makeshift office built from drywall and temporary glass partitions.

A single yellow halogen work light was turned on inside, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor.

I walked toward the office, my footsteps echoing loudly.

I looked up and saw three security cameras mounted on the concrete pillars, their red recording lights blinking slowly.

They were working.

The federal investigators would see everything.

I walked inside the temporary office.

On the desk was a blueprint of the building, a dusty hard hat, and a half-empty bottle of scotch.

I sat down on the metal folding chair behind the desk and waited.

The minutes ticked by like hours.

The wind rattled the plastic sheeting hung over the unfinished window frames.

My body was cold, my wet clothes clinging to my skin.

Then, I heard the faint hum of the service elevator motor.