I stood outside the heavy oak door of Suite 402, my hand hovering inches away from the wood. I hesitated for a long, agonizing minute, the silence of the plush hotel corridor broken only by the faint hum of the central air conditioning. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting scenarios. Was I walking into a trap? Had Isabel Myer called the authorities, or worse, hired some local thugs to break my legs as a definitive "severance package" from Longroad Logistics? If it hadn't been for Amy Jensen’s ironclad assurance that her people were already stationed in the lobby and the service elevators, I would have turned tail and disappeared into the neon lights of the city hours ago.
Suddenly, the door was pulled open from the inside before I could even summon the courage to knock. Isabel Myer stoo
