I was in my car within five minutes, the collar hidden beneath a silk scarf, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The drive to his office took twenty minutes, twenty minutes of white-knuckled steering and shallow breathing. I parked in the visitor lot, smoothed my hair, and walked through the glass doors of the Marcus Hale & Associates building.
The receptionist, a polished woman with a sharp bob and sharper eyes, looked up as I approached. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Marcus Hale," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'm his stepdaughter."
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes—curiosity, maybe, or recognition. "Do you have an appointment?"
"He's expecting me."
She picked up the phone, murmured something, and hung up. "He'll be righ
