The dark haired man behind the desk raised cool eyes to appraise me. “Ms. Delacourt,” he said in reply, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Please take a seat.”

My heartbeat sped up as I heard his voice, confirming my worst fears. Unable to speak, I moved to the chair he’d motioned me toward, movements jerky and hesitant, and sat down. He ignored me, running through something on his tablet in his hand. As we sat in strained silence I glanced around the large office. Windows covered the back wall behind the desk and CEO from ceiling to floor, giving a panoramic view of the streets below. The desk was a dark wood and sturdy, covered sparsely with a laptop computer, the name plate, and a Newton’s Cradle, the steel balls unmoving. The chair I sat in was plush and thick with rolling castors at the bottom making it easy to move around.

“Ms. Lucille Delacourt,” the stranger said, startling me. Jeremiah Hamilton, I reminded myself, still unable to get my brain around my current situation. “Currently a temp data clerk out of the Executive Management Solutions employment agency, hired one month ago by Agatha Crabtree. Correct so far?” At my jerky nod he continued. “I see you used your passport as identification.” He glanced up at me. “Passport?”

Talking was difficult with a suddenly dry mouth but I still tried. “I always carry them with me.” A raised eyebrow and expectant expression probed for more information but I only shrugged, words failing me.

There was a moment of silence before he resumed speaking. “Grew up in upstate New York, went three years to Cornell University before dropping out. Menial jobs since then and you moved to the City three months ago. Why did you drop out?”

His words washed right over me; it was the pause that had me looking up into his expectant face. “What?” I asked, completely missing the question.