‘You’re going to have to face the music,’ Mom used to say. I don’t know where that saying came from, but I know what it means, having heard it a lot growing up. Like the time I broke my grandma’s plate with the American constitution engraved on it. You’d swear it had been presented to her by President Lincoln – well, maybe not Lincoln, perhaps George Bush, the older one… she was a big fan of his. Anyway, uproar exploded when it broke. I ran out of the house and refused to return, until eventually I was told I had to face the music. And then there was the time I was caught stealing in school. It wasn’t much, just some coins one of the teachers had left in a drawer. After refusing to return to school for a week, kicking and screaming and making myself sick, I eventually had to return and face the music.

And here I am today. Standing outside Bridgeway about to go in and see Stephen Black for the first time since he threatened me. I don’t expect music.

Taking a deep breath, I push through the glass doors into the foyer. My stomach feels twisted, sweat clammy on my forehead, and the elevator seems to be taking forever. What will he do? Will he even speak to me? Eventually the elevator comes to a stop and I step out into the office, the constant office. It’s as if no one else bothers to go home at night. Like the space is permanently full of these people and I am the only one who comes and goes. The only thing different about it today is that everyone is looking at me. They don’t even turn away when I notice. I, for some reason, am today’s gossip.

Oh shit. I hope they don’t know about me and Stephen. But it’s not that – it’s her. Standing outside Stephen Black’s office. Detective Ivy Turner and her partner the tall quiet cop. What the hell are they doing here?

Stephen has a look on his face I haven’t seen before. Most likely it’s his ‘Why the hell are the cops looking for you?’ look. I’ll know soon enough because he’s heading in my direction.

‘What have you done now?’ he says under his minty fresh breath.

‘Nothing, honestly, it has nothing to do with me.’ He asks – no, orders – me to follow him into a nearby room, one of the settlement rooms, while I continue my plea of innocence. ‘The cops seem to think I know something I don’t.’

‘Get rid of her quick,’ he says, leaving to get Turner and bring her to the room.