The first reporter found me outside my own building four days later, a young woman with a phone held low but recording, her voice carrying the practiced, deceptively casual warmth of someone who did this for a living.
“Ruby Sinclair? I’m with the Tribune’s financial desk. I wonder if you’d be willing to comment on your relationship with Adrian Cole, or on when you first became aware of irregularities at Cole Meridian.”
I stood on my own front steps, keys still in my hand, and felt every careful instruction Diane had given me over the phone that morning rise up at once. Say nothing. Refer them to counsel. Don’t let them bait you into a soundbite you can’t take back.
“I don’t have a comment,” I said, keeping my voice level, and stepped past her toward the door.
“Sources say you moved int
