He wasn’t at the Ingomar Club, but she compelled the startled front desk clerk to allow her to use the phone. He was at the Scotia headquarters. She drove like a banshee and burst through the double doors. “I’m Diana Jamison, and I’m here to see my father,” she said, slapping her license down on the wood counter in front of the security guard on duty.
He looked at her skeptically, but when he read her name, he relaxed.
“I’ll just call—”
“Don’t bother.” She bounded down the hall to her father’s office.
“Dad! What the f**k?” she said, skidding to a stop in front of him. Her heart slammed against her breastbone painfully, as she panted to catch her breath.
His look of alarm was immediately replaced by lightly narrowed eyes. “Keep it down,” he said, rising from his glossy desk to close th
