FIRST DAY
I arrived at Dallas Enterprises at eight fifty-three.
Seven minutes early — the specific margin of someone who had calculated the walk from the bus stop twice and had added seven minutes for the possibility of needing to stand outside and breathe before going in. I stood on the pavement outside the building, looking at the entrance, and breathed.
The name above the door.
Dallas Enterprises.
I'd walked past it three times in six weeks, and it had looked different each time — once like a fact, once like a threat, once like a door. This morning, it looked like all three were happening simultaneously.
I went in.
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The receptionist from my interview was not at the desk.
A different person — a woman in her thirties, dark hair pulled back, the professional efficiency of someo
