We got out of the car, our footsteps echoing off the low concrete ceiling.

Marisol led me to a heavy steel door with a keypad.

She swiped a black security badge, and the lock clicked open.

We walked through a maze of white hallways with linoleum floors.

Eventually, we reached an office door with a small brass plaque that read: *Craig Vance, Assistant District Attorney*.

Marisol knocked once and pushed the door open.

Craig Vance was a tall man with graying hair and a rumpled blue suit.

His desk was piled high with manila folders and cardboard boxes.

A half-empty paper cup of coffee sat next to his keyboard.

“Marisol,” Vance said, standing up to shake her hand.

He turned to me and offered a polite nod. “Mrs. Lattimore. Please, sit.”

I sat in one of the hard wooden chairs opposite his desk.

I placed the heavy briefcase on my knees.

“We don’t have much time,” Marisol said, sitting beside me. “Derek’s people are watching my office.”

“We saw the gray sedan,” I added. “And his sister, Stephanie, called me just before we got here.”