The office is a mansion that’s been converted to serve as the Dayton Architecture firm. I admit, it’s beautifully done. I’ve heard of the firm, too. When I bought my house, they were one of the ones I considered to do the job of renovating.

Eric and I walk up to the front doors together. I don’t have anyone else with me, but I don’t think I’ll need much man power. When we walk inside, a pretty, young girl looks up from the receptionist desk.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. How can I help you?” she asks, a smile on her lips.

“We’re here to see Harry Dayton,” I say, glancing around. There’s a woman in the waiting room who’s stopped flipping through the magazine on her lap to watch us and someone else peers up from her desk in an office at the back.

It’s not like we stand out though, Eric and me. We’re dressed well. Dark suits. Clean cut. But maybe we do. Maybe they can feel the aggression coming off us.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

“Tell him Mr. Benedetti’s here to see him.”

“Professor Dayton’s very busy, Mr. Benedetti.” She pushes a few keys on her keyboard. “And I don’t see you listed here.”

“Upstairs?” I ask, ignoring her. “That his office?” Double doors at the top of the winding, elaborate staircase lead me to believe it is. Like a fucking king, he sits up there. Fucking pervert. “We’ll see ourselves up.”

“Sir! You can’t go up there—”

Eric and I take the steps up at a brisk pace. I unbutton my suit jacket as I reach the first-floor landing and don’t bother to knock but push the door open to find a very surprised, balding middle-aged man sitting behind a massive desk.

“What the—”

The girl from downstairs comes running into the room. “Professor, I’m so sorry—”

“That’s alright, honey,” Eric says behind me. I know he’s urging her out. “We’ll take it from here.”

The door closes.

Dayton looks me over, rises to his feet, his face red with rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Eric walks toward the desk, then around it. He glances at the computer screen and chuckles as he puts his hands on Dayton’s shoulders and pushes him to sit.

“We’ll let you get back to your porn in a few minutes,” he says. “This is Mr. Benedetti.”

I sit, cross my ankle over my knee. Look around.

“Mr. Benedetti,” Dayton says. From the look on his face, he knows who I am.

“I’m here about Natalie Gregorian,” I say.

Color drains from his face.

“Recognize the name?”

“I…uh…she’s a student of mine.”

“You touch her?”

“I—”

“Did you fucking touch her?”

“She…no. What are you inferring?”