There was a shriveled old man with sparse strands of hair carefully arranged over his balding pate. He appeared to be in his early seventies and was seated behind the massive polished mahogany desk. His head had snapped up from the paperwork at the commotion. Irritation vibrated through his frail frame. “For God’s sake,” he barked at his secretary, who could be seen gesticulating frenetically through one of the glass panels flanking the door. “All I asked is that you man the goddamned desk.” His annoyed gaze traveled from the glass panel to his unwanted visitors. His jaw dropped, and his rheumy eyes widened. “Sarah . . . ?” The old man rose shakily to his feet, and he clutched the desk for support. Dazed. “Is that you?”

*   *   *

Sarah drew to a halt in front of her lawyer’s desk. Her heart felt like a trapped bird in her chest. “Mr. Clarke.” She gave a curt nod. Sarah could hear the new assistant secretary’s shrill voice on the other side of the door. Was grateful for Mick’s strong, solid presence standing sentry beside it, making certain she was not disturbed. She watched her old lawyer jab the intercom button. “I’m fine, Hannah,” he said into the speaker. “Please carry on with your work.” His eyes didn’t stray from Sarah’s face. “And hold all calls.”

Sarah kept her face calm and expressionless. “Please sit. We have some things we need to discuss.”

“Sarah . . . my dear . . .” His gnarled, birdlike hand extended toward her, palm upward like a beggar crying for alms. He had aged so much since she had seen him last, shrunken several inches, and lost that brisk vitality that had always seemed to crackle around him. Seemed skinnier, too, like a shell of his former self. Was he sick? No, she told herself firmly. You can’t allow nostalgia and emotion to cloud your judgment. You must approach this situation with a clear-eyed, logical pragmatism. That is the only way you will get to the truth. “Thank God you are alive and well.” There was a quaver in his voice. “I’ve been so very worried.” Sarah’s eyes felt hot. He started to round the desk.

“No.” Sarah held up her hand to stop his approach. This was no happy homecoming, and she’d be damned if she’d pretend it was. The room was silent. She could hear the ticking of the antique clock her father had given Phillip. It was nestled on his bookcase among leather-bound books. Phillip was watching her cautiously. “Please. Sit.”

Her father’s lawyer sank to his seat. “Are you all right, my dear?” he ventured. There seemed to be genuine concern in his voice. “I didn’t know what to think when you disappeared like that. I tried to track you down, but you’d vanished into thin air.”