Through the crack, I saw his dark silhouette shift.

“This isn’t over, Emily,” he said.

His footsteps retreated down the hallway, heavy and slow.

I heard the heavy fire door at the end of the corridor slam shut.

I did not sleep that night.

The next morning was cold and grey.

Rain streaked the windows of the taxi as it pulled up to the glass tower downtown.

My attorney, Arthur, was waiting for me in the lobby.

He wore a dark charcoal suit and carried a thick leather briefcase.

“Are you ready?” Arthur asked.

“I am,” I said.

We took the elevator to the fourteenth floor.

The offices of Vance & Associates smelled of fresh carpet and expensive mahogany.

We were led into a large conference room with a long glass table in the center.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city looked like a blurred charcoal sketch.

Daniel was already there.

He sat on the opposite side of the table, wearing a navy suit that looked slightly too big for him.

To his left sat his father, Richard, who wore his usual gold signet ring and a cold, superior scowl.