I swung into a vaulted marble lobby and gave my name to the security guard. He called upstairs, and in a few minutes a woman came clicking across the floor in silver pants and a black turtleneck, hand extended all the way. With a British accent, she introduced herself as Nahid, and as I stood in the elevator beside her, breathing in her perfume, I reflected on how she had no idea who she was conveying, or how the story in my bag would bring this whole tower down.

“How long have you worked for Rubicon?” I asked.

“I’m with Inland, actually.”

“You don’t work for Mr. Sample?”

“No.” The doors opened. “Right this way.”

Nahid led me through a strangely empty office, cubicles abandoned on a Friday afternoon. At the end of the hall she opened a door to a boardroom and, when I stepped inside, closed it behind me.

At the long, slightly curved table sat two men I didn’t recognize. Only one stood to greet me. He was in his forties, eyes friendly, no eyebrows. Boardroom light glared off his shaved head and there was rosacea on his cheeks.

“Jeff Sloan,” he said, shaking my hand, “CEO of Inland Medical. And this is my associate.”

The other man wore a blond goatee and was seated with a briefcase in his lap. He didn’t nod or smile.

I said, “I was expecting Mr. Sample.”

“Ken’s no longer with the company,” Sloan told me. “Please, sit.”

I took one of the ergonomic swivel chairs along the polished table, and Sloan sat a few seats away from the associate. I could see people in the office building across the street. They were still at work, waving papers in the air, phone cords at maximum reach.

“We’re relieved you could make time for us on such short notice,” Sloan said. “I’m sure you understand why.”

I brought out my notebook. “Do you mind if I record?”

“If you like.”

I set the tape running.

Sloan said, “I’ve had a chance to read what you sent me. It’s terrifically written, very engaging.”

This was the first reader response I’d received.

“If you can believe it, there was a time, long ago, when I wanted to be a journalist myself. But I never had an eye for a good story, not like you, Whitney. You’ve shown me once again all the talent I don’t have.” He smiled, teeth blunt, as if filed down.

“I suppose I should say thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said the CEO. “You came here for a comment from Ken. Tell me, does that mean you’ve given us a first look, so to speak, and that you haven’t yet shared this widely?”

“Yes.”

“So no one else has read this stuff?”

I hedged by saying, “Not in its most recent form.”

Sloan glanced at the associate, who inclined his head.