The receptionist looked up, her eyes widening when she saw me.

“They are already in the boardroom, Ms. Vance,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the HVAC system.

I nodded and kept walking down the wide, carpeted hallway.

Elena walked half a step behind me, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm on the hardwood border.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the boardroom without knocking.

The room was silent, the air heavy with tension.

Ten people sat around a massive mahogany table that stretched fifteen feet down the center of the room.

At the far end sat Patricia Voss, wearing a tailored navy suit and her signature triple-strand pearl necklace.

Her hair was perfectly coiffed, not a single gray strand showing against the dark brown dye.

Harrison sat to her left, looking as though he had not slept in days.

His tie was slightly crooked, his collar open, and his skin had a pale, grayish tint.

“Claire,” Harrison said, his chair scraping the floor as he started to stand.

“Sit down, Harrison,” Patricia said, her voice cutting through the room like dry ice.