Twenty minutes later I pulled up to the gated entrance of the executive apartment tower, where a uniformed doorman waved my sedan down into the underground garage.

Brenda was waiting in the private elevator lobby on the ninth floor with a ring of brass keys and a folded pile of crisp white linens.

“The company suite was empty until the end of the quarter,” Brenda said, stepping up to take my smaller handbag.

“I had the key cards reprogrammed to your corporate security clearance forty-five minutes ago.”

“Did anybody at the office ask about my calendar for tomorrow?” I asked, setting my suitcase beside the entry bench.