“Call me back,” Bethany said, cutting her off. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The line went dead, and Kincaid stared at her phone in disbelief. After her meeting with Roger, she was going to have a come-to-Jesus talk with Ferris about sharing her private information with clients.

She headed into the office, which was quiet except for the chatter of Millicent, the office receptionist, who was answering calls. Two agents were there, bent over paperwork at their desks. Ferris’s desk was empty but his screen saver was still on, which meant he was coming back. Kincaid gave a little wave to her fellow agents and then headed to the back to her broker’s office.

Roger Postman had been the head of Postman Realty since his father had stepped down fifteen years ago. The agency had always been the most successful in town, but Roger had taken it over after the Long Acre shooting, and he’d had his work cut out for him when the market shifted. He worked hard to keep the business thriving and had exacting standards, but Kincaid had always found him to be a smart broker and a good manager. As long as they were bringing in steady commissions, he let the agents do their jobs without too much interference. When she knocked on his doorjamb, he looked up from his computer and frowned at her, making him look older than his fiftysomething years.

“You wanted to see me?” she reminded him.

He glanced past her into the main office and then waved her in. “Yes. Come on in and shut the door behind you, please.”

Uh-oh. She stepped inside and clicked the door shut, a pang of dread going through her. Roger rarely had closed-door meetings. This probably meant she was going to get a talk about her dip in sales. Postman Realty only wanted top-selling agents on the team. The last few months, she’d tumbled down that list. But she had talking points prepared to discuss the reasons and a plan to improve. She’d been anticipating this talk. All of them got it at one time or another. It was a feast-or-famine kind of job.

Kincaid took a seat in the chair across from his desk. Roger turned away from his computer to face her and tugged at his striped tie as if it’d suddenly tightened on him. She laced her fingers in her lap. “Is everything okay, Roger?”

He stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “No, unfortunately, it’s not.”

Her laced fingers clenched. “If it’s about my numbers, I have a plan—”

“It’s not about your numbers,” he said, cutting her off. “Those haven’t been great lately, but that’s not why I’ve called you in here.”

Her brow scrunched. “Oh. Okay. Then what’s going on?”

He flattened his palms on his desk calendar and looked to be steeling himself for the conversation. Foreboding filled her. He took a measured breath. “Kincaid, it’s been brought to my attention that you have violated our ethics policy.”