“I’m here to see Lauren Voss,” I said. “I’m her husband, Martin.” He looked up slowly, his expression shifting into something I couldn’t quite place.
“You said you’re Mrs. Voss’s husband?” “That’s right. I brought her lunch.”
Then Harold laughed — a real, bewildered laugh that echoed across the entire lobby.
“Sir, I see her husband every single day. He just left about ten minutes ago.”
He gestured casually toward the elevators. “There he is, coming back right now.”
I turned and watched a tall man in an expensive charcoal suit stride through the lobby like the whole building belonged to him.
