The 47th floor was silent. Most of the staff had clocked out long ago, leaving only the hum of the air conditioning and the distant drone of the city below.

She stretched, rolled her neck, and reached for her coffee. Cold. She grimaced and made a mental note to reheat it.

That's when she heard it.

A door slamming. Not a gust of wind, not an echo. The heavy, deliberate sound of a door closing somewhere down the hall.

She glanced toward the corridor. It was dark, the motion-activated lights already asleep.

Her boss's office was at the end of that hall. And as far as she knew, the car he'd taken earlier had already pulled away from the building.

The sound came from the direction of his office. Beyond the frosted glass wall that separated the executive wing from the open floor plan.

Another voice. Deeper. Harsher. The cadence of it was unfamiliar—nothing like the smooth, measured tone she'd heard her boss use on a hundred conference calls.

The second voice replied in Italian.