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discovered her first love: music
journalism.
    Not that she felt like a journalist right then; sitting in
the back of the car her father sent to pick her up. She felt like a scared
little girl being dragged to see the principal because she’d done something
wrong.
    “We’re here, Miss Vincent.” The driver’s voice brought Hanna
back to the present. He pulled up outside her father’s office near Wall Street.
Her forehead wrinkled in surprise. It was a long time since she had been to New
York to visit her father, five years at least. Only once had he taken her to
see his office.
    “My father wants me to be dropped off here?” She could hear
the confusion in her own voice. God only knew what the driver thought.
    “Yes, I’m to take your luggage back to the townhouse. Give
your name at the security desk, and they’ll let him know you’re here.”
    Hanna nodded, shuffling over to the door and pulling at the
handle. She wasn’t going to wait for the driver to get out and open it.
    “Well, thanks for picking me up.”
    “No problem, Miss Vincent. Welcome to New York.”
    Welcome indeed. As soon as the car door opened, Hanna’s ears
were assaulted with the noise of the streets. Humming engines punctuated the
air along with the staccato pumping of horns. The drumming of a road compactor
a couple of blocks down accompanied the constant drone of voices as she was
suddenly surrounded by people milling about the sidewalk. The sights and sounds
of London seemed like mere whispers compared to this. The height of the
buildings, and the closed-in feeling that they gave her as she walked along,
took her breath away.
    To her left, the twin towers of the World Trade Center
loomed over the financial district, like two sentinels standing guard over New
York Harbor. Hanna couldn’t help but be impressed by their stature. She decided
then and there that she’d definitely make a trip up to see the observation deck
at some point during her visit. The view over the Atlantic Ocean on one side
and Manhattan on the other had to be impressive from there.
    Tearing her eyes away, she walked the five yards to the
office building, which housed the company her father co-owned. When she got to
the security desk, she gave the guard her name and waited for somebody to come
and collect her. The foyer reeked of money; the marble floor was pristine, as
if it was being constantly buffed by an invisible army, and all of the
furniture was high end.
    “Hanna?” She was shocked to see her father was the one who
had come to meet her. She was so sure it was going to be one of his minions,
maybe an intern or something.
    “Hi Dad.” She allowed herself to be hugged by him. His dark
grey hair was perfectly arranged as usual, his suit well cut and fitted.
    “How was your flight? Did you get here all right?” They
walked through the security turnstile and over to the elevator bank. When the
elevator arrived, Philip pushed the button to take them to the fourth floor.
Vincent-Jones took up the entire floor, with the best offices reserved for her
father and his partner.
    “The flight was fine. It was nice to travel in first class.
Thank you for paying.”
    “You’re welcome. I just need to make a couple of phone
calls, and then we can go and get something to eat.” They’d reached his
secretary’s desk. The blonde sat there looked up at Hanna with interest.
    Hanna assumed she was probably trying to work out how this disheveled
eighteen-year-old, wearing ripped jeans, a band tee, and a wrinkled black
jacket, could possibly be related to Philip Vincent.
    It was something Hanna often wondered herself.
    “Can I get you anything, Miss Vincent? A coffee, something
to eat perhaps?”
    “I’m fine. I’ll just sit here and wait.”
    Ten minutes later, her father walked out of his office,
pulling a smart, black, woolen coat around his shoulders.
    “I won’t be coming back today, Grace,” he said to his blonde
secretary as he passed by her desk. “If