Trust me.”

The line went dead before I could answer.

On Monday morning I parked downtown and walked three blocks to Ethan’s accounting firm.

I stopped at the corner cafe and bought two iced coffees.

They cost seven dollars each, sweating thick condensation through their thin plastic cups as I walked.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors of Ethan’s building and stood by the security desk.

The lobby was filled with men and women in tailored suits carrying leather bags.