“The records are notarized, Spencer,” I said, pressing the blue box into his palm.

“You can explain the genetic markers to your board.”

He stood frozen in the middle of the antechamber as the elevator chimed and the brass doors slid open.

I stepped in, pressed the button for street level, and watched his reflection fade behind the polished metal doors.

Out on Fifth Avenue, the autumn wind was blowing dry yellow leaves across the sidewalk.

My phone buzzed in my hand with a text from Nora Miller confirming that Spencer’s corporate lawyers had formally withdrawn their emergency motion to freeze my bank accounts.