“Elliot Crane has been notified of the emergency board meeting at nine.”

“Does Graham know?” I asked.

“He thinks the meeting is about restructuring the firm’s losses,” Raymond said.

“He has no idea you bought out his silent partners.”

“I’ll meet you at the office,” I said.

The Whitaker-Crane building rose thirty stories above the Dallas skyline, a monolith of glass and steel.

I parked in the executive garage.

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent, the hum of the cables the only sound.

I watched the floor numbers tick upward on the digital screen.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

The doors slid open to the reception area.

The floors were polished white marble, reflecting the bright fluorescent lights overhead.

The receptionist looked up, surprised to see me.

“Mrs. Vance,” she said, standing up. “Good morning. Is Mr. Vance expecting you?”

“No,” I said. “But Mr. Crane is.”

I walked past her, my heels clicking on the marble floor.

The hallway was lined with floor-to-ceiling glass walls, showing the city below.

I reached the boardroom at the end of the hall.

The double oak doors were closed.