I kept praying that there was a simple explanation.

Maybe Hunter had tried to sell my research to my father’s competitors, and my father had intercepted it.

Maybe he was keeping it safe for me.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal the empty reception lobby.

The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.

I walked down the quiet hallway, my wet soles squeaking against the stone.

The door to my father’s private office was at the very end of the corridor.

A warm, golden light spilled out from the gap beneath the double mahogany doors.

I reached out and gently pushed one of the heavy doors open.

The office smelled of expensive leather, old paper, and scotch.

My father, Arthur Hayes, was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He was looking out at the rain-washed city, a crystal tumbler in his right hand.

He did not turn around when I entered.

“I knew you would come, Evelyn,” he said, his voice deep and calm.

I stopped in the middle of the room, my eyes scanning the space.