Lucas Reed worked late on Thursdays.
I knew that from my first life, when I had noticed the light in his third-floor office at Whitmore Group burning past eight on Thursday evenings, long after the rest of the floor had emptied. I had never known what kept him there. Junior lawyers at firms like this one had no shortage of work to justify the hours, but there was something specific about Thursday evenings that I had always found notable without ever acting on it.
This time I acted on it.
I arrived at Whitmore Group at seven forty-five, dressed carefully in a grey blazer and dark trousers, the kind of outfit that read as purposeful without announcing itself. The lobby security guard recognized me as a member of the family and let me through without calling upstairs, which was exactly wha
