The trip across downtown took twenty minutes in the thick lunch-hour traffic.

I left the car in the garage under Sarah’s building and rode the glass elevator up to the fourteenth floor.

Sarah Mitchell was at her desk when the receptionist led me into the office.

She was tapping her expensive pen on a yellow legal pad, with three heavy legal binders stacked around her.

“Have a seat, Naomi,” Sarah said, gesturing toward the leather chair across the desk.

“Were you able to find the property records?” I asked.