She picked up the phone and spoke in a quiet voice.

I stood quietly, holding my briefcase.

Through the glass walls of the conference room down the hall, I could see figures moving.

I recognized Graham’s broad shoulders.

He was pacing back and forth, waving his hands as he spoke to three men in dark suits.

He looked pale.

His tie was slightly crooked.

Even from this distance, I could see the sweat on his brow.

He was trying to sell a lie, and he was running out of time.

The receptionist hung up the phone.

“Mr. Vance will see you now,” she said, gesturing toward the double wooden doors at the end of the hall.

“Thank you,” I said.

I walked down the quiet, carpeted corridor.

Each step felt deliberate.

I could hear Graham’s voice through the heavy wooden door of the boardroom.

“Vanguard is a reasonable company,” Graham was saying, his voice strained. “We have a solid relationship. This demand notice is just a clerical error.”

“It is not an error, Mr. Ralston,” a deep voice replied from inside. “The termination notice is signed by the principal trustee.”