I needed to keep him talking just a little longer, or find a way to lock him in the hallway.

“Claire,” he said, extending his hand. “Think about Lily. What happens to her if you destroy my career? Who pays for this house? Who pays for her school?”

“I don’t care about the house,” I said.

“You will when you’re broke and living in a shelter,” he said. “Give me the phone.”

He made a sudden, aggressive move forward, his hand snapping out to grab my wrist.

I twisted my arm away, barely escaping his grip.

In the movement, the manila folder slipped from his arm, and several old, yellowed charts spilled across the floor.

He looked down at the papers for a split second.

That was my chance.

I turned and scrambled down the stairs, my feet hitting the wooden steps with loud, echoing thuds.

“Claire!” he yelled from the top of the stairs.

I reached the bottom landing, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The foyer was freezing.

I rushed to the main security panel beside the front door.

The screen was dark.