We walked out of the CEO's office together, a united front of corporate invincibility.
The outer reception area was usually a place of hushed voices and soft classical music. Today, it felt like a crime scene.
Three men in dark, off-the-rack suits were standing near the elevators. They had the thick necks and watchful eyes of federal investigators—former cops who had traded their beat for white-collar crime.
But they weren't the threat. The threat was the woman standing by Sarah's desk, calmly examining a piece of modern art on the wall.
She turned as we entered.
She was in her late thirties, with sharp, angular features and dark hair cut into a precise, no-nonsense bob that brushed her jawline. She wore a tailored, charcoal trench coat over a simple black pantsuit. There was no jewelry, no expensive watch, no visible markers of wealth.
