“Claire,” she said again, quieter, trying it on.

“I’m Sophie.”

I sat down across from her.

Twenty-eight, maybe.

Her hand went to her stomach the way a person checks a pocket for keys, and stayed there.

“You called my office.

You said you had something to show me.”

She reached down beside the chair and came up with a thick manila envelope, the flap folded over twice and taped flat.