Chapter 1 - The Woman Beneath the Forty-Foot Windows
Daniel Carter had been flirting with the woman in the lobby for almost six minutes before he realized there was something strange about her.
Not the expensive leather folder beside her.
Not the tailored gray coat that probably cost more than his monthly grocery bill.
Not even the fact that she was sitting alone beneath the forty-foot windows of Northstar Technologies at eight-thirteen on a wet Seattle morning, looking perfectly calm while executives hurried around her as if the building were on fire.
It was the way she watched the elevators.
Every time the stainless-steel doors opened, her expression tightened for half a second.
Daniel noticed things like that.
He fixed buildings for a living.
Broken hinges. Loose wiring. Bad compressors. Water stains that meant a pipe was about to become a disaster.
People had tells, too.
Daniel shifted the black-and-red toolbox in his right hand and watched the woman glance toward the elevators for what had to be the eleventh time.
“You know,” he said, “if whoever you’re waiting for is already thirteen minutes late, I think you’re legally allowed to start judging them.”
The woman looked up.
She had dark-blond hair pinned loosely behind one ear and blue-gray eyes that appeared calm only because they had clearly learned how to hide exhaustion.
“Legally?”
“Seattle municipal code.”
Her mouth twitched.
“I don’t remember that one.”
“Article seven. Section twelve. Right after the law requiring everyone to complain about rain while voluntarily living here.”
That did it.
She laughed.
Not politely.
Actually laughed.
Daniel grinned.
There were worse ways to start a Monday.
“Daniel.”
He put down the toolbox and held out a hand.
The woman considered it for the briefest moment before taking it.
“Clare.”
Her grip was warm and firm.
“Nice to meet you, Clare Who Is Being Stood Up.”
“Maybe I’m not being stood up.”
“Then you’re waiting for someone dramatic.”
“That is possible.”
“Romantic dramatic or lawsuit dramatic?”
She stared at him.
“You do this often?”
“What?”
“Interview strangers in corporate lobbies?”
“Only suspicious ones.”
“And what makes me suspicious?”
“You’ve checked the elevators eleven times.”
“Have I?”
“Maybe twelve.”
“So you’ve been watching me?”
Daniel tilted his head.
“That sounded much worse when you said it.”
She laughed again.
For a moment, everything around them seemed slower.
The clicking heels.
The muted phone conversations.
The hiss of the espresso machine near reception.
Rain sliding down the glass.
Then Clare looked at his toolbox.
“Do you work here?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
“A suspicious stranger.”
“In that case, yes. Facilities maintenance.”
Her gaze moved across the grand lobby.
Northstar Technologies had spent millions making the building look effortless.
Italian marble.
Suspended stainless-steel sculptures.
Touch-screen directories.
Indoor trees maintained by a company Daniel privately believed charged more per leaf than most people earned per hour.
“So you keep all of this running?” she asked.
Daniel followed her gaze.
“I keep everybody convinced all of this is running.”
“That sounds more difficult.”
“It is.”
Something shifted in her expression.
“What’s the hardest part?”
Daniel expected the question to be another joke.
It wasn’t.
He looked across the lobby.
A senior vice president hurried through the security gates without acknowledging the receptionist who greeted him.
Three consultants stood near the coffee bar discussing “organizational efficiency” while a janitor maneuvered a cart around them because none of the men moved six inches to let her through.
An assistant chased an executive with a stack of folders.
Nobody seemed to notice anybody who wasn’t important enough to be noticed.
“The building’s easy,” Daniel said.
Clare followed his eyes.
“The people?”
“People usually wait until something breaks before they care who keeps it working.”
She studied him.
Daniel suddenly felt as though he had revealed more than he intended.
He shrugged.
“But hey. Job security.”
His phone vibrated.
He pulled it out.
A message from his eight-year-old daughter filled the screen.
DADDY I LEFT MY PURPLE FOLDER IN YOUR CAR PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
Daniel closed his eyes.
Clare noticed.
“Emergency?”
“My daughter has declared a national crisis.”
He typed quickly.
I FOUND IT. I’LL DROP IT AT SCHOOL ON LUNCH.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
YOU ARE THE BEST DAD IN WASHINGTON
Daniel smiled despite himself.
“Daughter?” Clare asked.
“Lily. Eight. Third grade. Strong opinions. Negotiates like an attorney.”
“You sound proud.”
“I’m terrified.”
Clare smiled, but something moved behind the expression.
A shadow.
Gone almost immediately.
“How long have you been raising her alone?”
Daniel hesitated.
Normally, he didn’t discuss Emma with strangers.
Four years had passed, but speaking about his wife could still feel like touching an old fracture just to see whether it hurt.
It usually did.
“Four years.”
Clare’s smile disappeared.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel nodded.
“Thank you.”
Emma Carter had died after an aggressive illness that took eleven months to turn a healthy thirty-two-year-old woman into a photograph on Daniel’s nightstand.
For the first year afterward, Daniel had measured success differently.
Did Lily eat?
Did she sleep?
Did he remember picture day?
Did he sign the field-trip permission slip?
Did he manage to walk through the grocery store without crying because Emma’s favorite cereal was on sale?
Eventually grief became quieter.
Not smaller.
Just quieter.
Clare lowered her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You’re fine.”
Silence settled between them.
The kind that didn’t feel uncomfortable.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
Then Clare glanced toward the elevators again.
Daniel noticed.
“Important meeting?”
“Very.”
“Nervous?”
She looked surprised.
“No.”
Daniel raised one eyebrow.
“Your thumb disagrees.”
She glanced downward.
Her right thumb was rubbing the edge of the leather folder.
For the first time, she looked genuinely embarrassed.
“Do you analyze everyone like this?”
“Occupational hazard.”
“I thought your occupation was fixing air conditioners.”
“I’m multitalented.”
Clare smiled again.
Then her phone vibrated.
She looked at the screen.
Whatever she read erased the smile instantly.
Daniel pretended he hadn’t noticed.
Clare stood.
“I should go upstairs.”
“Which floor?”
“Thirty-one.”
Daniel whistled softly.
“Executive country.”
“Is it?”
“The air gets thinner above twenty-five.”
“And dangerous?”
“Only if you’re allergic to PowerPoint.”
That brought the smile back.
Daniel pointed toward the elevators.
“The conference wing is confusing. Take the center elevator. When you get off, turn left past reception. If you see a giant painting that looks like a blue sandwich, you’ve gone too far.”
“A blue sandwich?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
Clare tucked the folder beneath her arm.
“Would you show me?”
Daniel checked his watch.
Eight-twenty.
His first service call wasn’t until eight-forty.
“Sure.”
They began walking toward the elevators.
A man in an expensive navy suit stepped directly between them without apologizing.
Clare moved aside.
Daniel gave the man an unimpressed look.
“You see?” he murmured.
“What?”
“The people.”
She glanced at him.
But before she could answer, the center elevator opened.
They stepped inside.
Daniel pressed thirty-one.
The doors slid shut.
As the elevator began rising, Clare became quieter.
The playful woman from the lobby seemed to disappear inch by inch.
Her shoulders straightened.
Her expression became controlled.
Almost formal.
Daniel noticed that, too.
“Definitely lawsuit dramatic,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“You have the face.”
“What face?”
“The one people make before they say, ‘My attorney will be contacting you.’”
A laugh escaped her before she managed to stop it.
“You really have no filter.”
“I had one once.”
“What happened?”
“Facilities budget cuts.”
The elevator passed twenty-eight.
Then twenty-nine.
Clare looked at him carefully.
“Do you like working here, Daniel?”
The question sounded different now.
More serious.
He thought about it.
“I like the people who actually keep the place running.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
He met her eyes.
“I guess I like what Northstar says it wants to be.”
“And what does Northstar say it wants to be?”
Daniel nodded toward a slogan printed beside the floor indicator.
BUILDING TECHNOLOGY THAT SERVES PEOPLE.
“That.”
“And what do you think it really is?”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“Ask me after my annual review.”
The elevator chimed.
Thirty-one.
The doors opened.
Daniel stepped out beside Clare.
Then stopped.
The entire floor had gone silent.
A woman behind the executive reception desk stood.
Then two assistants stood.
Then a director Daniel recognized from quarterly meetings rose from his chair.
Inside the glass conference room, six people turned.
One after another, they stood too.
Daniel looked around.
At least twenty people were now on their feet.
Nobody was looking at him.
They were looking at Clare.
A silver-haired man hurried toward them.
“Ms. Whitmore.”
Daniel slowly turned his head.
Clare was no longer smiling.
“Good morning, Richard.”
The silver-haired man looked tense.
“The board is ready for you.”
“I would hope so.”
Daniel’s eyebrows rose.
Clare glanced back at him.
For the first time since the lobby, she looked almost apologetic.
Daniel lowered his toolbox.
“Clare…”
Her eyes met his.
“Who exactly are you?”
Before she could answer, an older board member approached.
“Ms. Whitmore, congratulations again on your appointment.”
Daniel stared.
Appointment?
The man continued.
“Northstar is fortunate to have its new chief executive finally here.”
The lobby jokes replayed in Daniel’s head.
Suspicious stranger.
Being stood up.
Lawsuit dramatic.
Allergic to PowerPoint.
He had flirted with the new CEO.
For six straight minutes.
Clare’s mouth curved slightly.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for Daniel.
“You were right about one thing,” she said quietly.
He swallowed.
“What?”
She looked toward the enormous blue abstract painting at the end of the hallway.
“It does look like a sandwich.”
Then she walked toward the boardroom.
Daniel remained frozen beside his toolbox.
And that was when he noticed something else.
The silver-haired executive who had greeted Clare was not watching her.
He was watching Daniel.
And there was nothing friendly in his expression.
Daniel had no idea yet that his six-minute conversation in the lobby had just placed him in the middle of a war being fought thirty-one floors above the city.
May you like
But by lunchtime, somebody would already be trying to get rid of him.
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