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earnings would be going to a prepaid
debit card—another one of Pen’s brilliant ideas.
    "Wonderful, I'll just
take this out to Pamela to make a copy for our records." Dora scooted
backward and left the office, her ballet flats padding lightly on the carpet. I
didn't dare turn to look at her because I knew I would give myself away and
instead of going to the seventh floor—Margaret's floor—I'd be promptly escorted
out of Emerson & Taylor by the police. I took Dora's absence as an
opportunity to catch my breath and allow myself to grasp that I'd made it in.
    I was here, in this building.
    And if I were smart, I'd
leave in a month or two with all of Margaret's secrets. And if those secrets
included anything that had directly harmed my father or screwed me over...
    "All finished." The
sound of Dora's voice made me jump, but I didn’t think she noticed as she took
her seat. She slid my ID across the desk. I picked it up, careful not to make
contact with her so she wouldn't feel the nervous sweat dampening my palms.
Leaning back in her chair, she offered me an expression that somewhat resembled
a smile. "You're done here. You can go home."
    Sharp fear speared the pit of
my stomach. Keeping my demeanor calm, I put my ID in my bag and cocked my
eyebrow at Dora. "Is anything wrong?"
    She studied her computer
screen, not looking at me, and my heart felt like it was seconds from exploding
from my chest. I glanced at the door, confident that at any second, law
enforcement would burst in and drag me away.
    "Not at all,” Dora said
dismissively, grabbing a half-full iced coffee from the edge of her desk that I
hadn’t noticed before. I let the relief sink in as she took a sip and sighed.
“As you already know from our discussion last week, Margaret's been working
remotely while overseas for fashion week. She was supposed to be back in the
office yesterday, but she was delayed. She’s adamant that you don't start until
she returns."
    "I see. And when will
that be?"
    Dora dabbed at her mouth with
a pink lipstick-stained napkin and studied the large calendar beneath her
keyboard. After several seconds, she tapped her finger on October tenth, three
days from today. "She'll definitely be back and settled in by Thursday.”
She glanced up at me, blowing wisps of hair from her face. "Can you be
here first thing Thursday morning?"
    I nodded a little too
eagerly. "Yes, of course."
    "I've asked Pamela to
give Carl a call to let him know you'll be stopping by for your badge on the
way out.” As if she’d completely brushed off whatever had happened between her
and Oliver, Dora stood to dismiss me. “Welcome to Emerson & Taylor, Miss
Connelly."
    *
    Leaving the HR department, and even as I
rode the elevator back downstairs to Carl, anxiety crawled through my veins. I
found the security guard leisurely sipping the coffee Stella had bribed him
with, watching me with light eyes that made me feel like he could see right
through me.
    “Excited?” he asked, as he
presented a newly printed badge on the counter in front of me. He placed a
clipboard beside it and motioned for me to sign beside where my name was neatly
printed. “It’s a good company. I’ve been here since ninety-four.”
    He was here before my
parents divorced , I
thought. Had I met Carl when I was a child? Had he checked my mother and me
through security so we could visit my father? If I told him who I was right
now, would Carl remember me?
    I responded with a smile, but
my eyes unintentionally wandered to the left side of the lobby where my mom’s
photo hung. “I can’t wait to meet Ms. Emerson.” My hand shook as I signed
Lizzie Connelly—the name I’d practiced so many times over the last few months I
could likely sign the damn thing in my sleep. “I’ve looked up to her ever since
I was a little girl.” Saying those words aloud nearly choked me, but I
maintained my expression.
    “Every girl who comes through
that door says that,” Carl mused as I shoved my new