The elevator ride up to the president’s floor felt like being strapped to a missile. Fast and deadly with no way out.
I clutched my folder like it was a shield, hoping it could protect me from whatever storm was waiting above.
My heart pounded against my ribs, loud and anxious.
My palms were sweaty, my knees wobbled, and my stomach flipped like it was doing somersaults.
Why was he calling me?
Did he find out?
Did he know that I had been staring at his picture like a woman possessed, trying to match the face in the photo with the face from my past?
Was that what this was all about?
Or did he know about the children?
Or was that what he had been hinting at all this time?
The elevator gave a soft ding and the doors slid open, revealing a hallway so silent, I could hear the tick of
