“Frank’s right, Dad.

Take a breath.”

The walk from my corner office to the main reception desk took four minutes, because I had to hang on to the wooden wall trim every ten feet.

At half past eleven, Valerie Hayes stood behind the laminate counter, twisting a thin gold ring on her right middle finger and checking her watch.

She pushed a thick stack of unopened morning mail across the blotter toward me.

“Rebecca’s old desk drawers got emptied out completely this morning,” Valerie said, her voice brisk and a little too cheerful.