A look of surprise crossed his face.

He stepped to the side, letting the elevator doors close without us.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It is a message from Vanessa’s personal attorney,” Robert said, his voice quiet.

“She wants to talk to us.”

“To us?” I repeated.

“She says she has something we want,” Robert said, staring at his screen.

“But she wants a guarantee first.”

“What kind of guarantee?” I asked.

Robert looked down at his phone, his thumb scrolling through the text message.

“She wants immunity from any civil conspiracy claims,” he said.

“And she wants a security detail paid for by our side.”

The elevator arrived again, its bell chiming in the quiet corridor.

The metal doors slid open, revealing an empty, lit cabin.

I looked at the silver doors, then back at Robert.

“Is she afraid of him?” I asked.

“It seems so,” Robert said.

“Let’s go back to my office.”

We walked back down the carpeted hallway.

The air in the corridor smelled of old paper and stale coffee.

In Robert’s office, the rain had started to streak the tall glass windows.