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clock: The bullpen computers buzzed, the conference rooms sparkled, secretaries slipped quietly up and down the halls like well-oiled gears. Even the day before Thanksgiving it hummed along like a machine. As Paul swiped in through the large glass doors, a rush of filtered air and kinetic energy hit him. The lights were on and a few associates sped past him down the hall. Paul was surprised to see so many people at work. He nodded to Ida, Carter’s secretary, who was talking into her headset. She signaled him over with one hand, like an air traffic controller bringing him in for a landing, and he waited in front of her cube as she wrapped up her call. The firm’s mascot, a gleaming bronze lion, stared at him with unmoving eyes from across the hallway. The statue stood perpetual guard over Carter’s office, a gift from Carter’s lawyer, Sol Penzell.
    â€œTerry’s out today,” Ida said crisply, when she hung up. She gave Paul an efficient smile. “I’m filling in for her. Anything you need, you just give a shout.”
    â€œThanks, Ida,” he said. “I appreciate it.” He turned toward his office. His was the next door down from Carter’s. Paul still found the proximity vaguely unnerving.
    â€œOh, Paul,” Ida called. “A woman from the SEC named Alexa Mason called for you. She said it was urgent.”
    â€œAlexa Mason?” Paul stopped and turned around, his hand still on the door handle. “This early? Did she say what about?”
    â€œShe left a voice mail. She said she’s working with David Levin. She told me to say that.”
    Paul nodded. “Thanks, Ida. I’ll get back to her.”
    â€œDo you need her number?” Ida asked, but Paul had already shut the door.
    In the safety of his office, Paul closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His shoulder blades rose and fell gently against the wall. The message light on his phone flashed an insistent red. It elevated his heart rate just to look at it.
    I’m not ready to talk to anyone at the SEC
, he thought.
Even Alexa.
    He sat down at his desk and, after a minute, turned the phone to face the wall so that he couldn’t see the light.
    By noon, Paul had worked his way through a stack of agreements that needed his sign-off. Since most of the senior management was out of the office, he had kicked off his loafers and was sitting crossed-legged on his desk chair. He had forgotten Alexa’s call, or, at least, pushed it to the recesses of his mind.
    Outside his window, the November sky had turned to silver. The few pedestrians he could see on the sidewalk below were swaddled in hats and coats, their faces tucked up behind lengths of fabric. Paul regretted not having his scarf. They were predicting that the snow would hit earlier than expected; a shiver of excitement passed through his body as he checked the weather report online. One thing he loved about New York was the sharpness of the seasons. There was something electric about winter coming to the city. It was gritty and cold but also wondrously beautiful. The dark army of trees on Park Avenue came alive with lights at night; the store displays on Fifth Avenue were gaudy and gorgeous, as were the throngs of holiday shoppers that clogged the sidewalks. Snow in New York turned quickly into a blackened slush along the curbs, but for the first brief moment, it would dust the sidewalks like confectioners’ sugar and transform the city’s skyline into a perfect, tiered wedding cake.
    Suddenly, Paul was itching to leave the office. He put on his headset and dialed Ida.
    â€œIda, it’s Paul. Listen, please go home. No one else is here and I doubt anyone’s going to call. You can roll Carter’s line over to me if that makes you more comfortable.”
    â€œAre you sure that’s okay?” Ida said gratefully. “It’s only lunchtime. I’m happy to stay.”
    Paul was about to wish her a happy