and I stepped in front of the ruined luggage, blocking it from view.

With inhuman speed, Paul shook off the remains of the bag and stood up, managing to give the impression that he had been waiting for the elevator for several seconds. There was a sunbeam next to his foot, and he took one casual step back.

The guard, overweight and dressed in an ill-fitting uniform suit with large sweat patches under his arms, looked first at me and then at Paul, who gave him a perfectly bland, I totally belong here look.

I cleared my throat and said, “I have an appointment with Mr. McDonald. I believe his office is on the sixth floor?”

The guard’s expression hardened. “I’m going to have to call it up.”

Maybe I should have taken a few minutes to change clothe...

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