Chapter 9: The Archive

I walked into the lobby of Holloway Group at nine the next morning with my school lanyard still around my neck.

The receptionist stood up before I reached the desk.

"Mrs. Holloway," she said, and then went red, because she did not know whether she was allowed to call me that anymore.

"I'm here for my father's boxes," I said. "The ones from Corr Capital. Frank Corr's personal box."

Everyone in the lobby had stopped to look.

I knew what they had seen on their phones.

I kept my chin level.

"Please call Mr. Holloway," I said. "I'll wait."

I waited ten minutes, on a leather bench, with my hands folded over my stomach where anybody could see them.

When the elevator opened, Quentin stepped out alone.

He had not shaved.

He looked at me like someone who had been awake all night and expected it to continue.

"Claire."

"I'm here for my father's things," I said. "That's all. Your people are going to shred them on Friday."

He frowned.

"Shred them?"

"Friday at noon. All the Corr storage."

"I didn't order that."

Gretchen's heels clicked from the other elevator.

She had a tablet on her arm and a face of cool surprise.

"It's the standard retention schedule," she said. "I'm sorry, Quentin. It was set up last month, before any of this. I can cancel it."

"Cancel it," Quentin said.

"Of course."

He turned back to me.

"The box is in the archive," he said. "You said no gifts. This isn't one. It was always his."

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