“Victoria arrived that morning at about eight-thirty. I don’t have any notes about the meeting for obvious reasons. But I’ve retold my recollection of events many times over the years for other documentaries that told the story of survivors who made it out of the towers before they collapsed. So I know that I had a meeting with a client that morning at eight-thirty. The client was Victoria Ford. We reviewed the case against her and discussed the implications of the grand jury that was convening that week. We talked about how she might secure the money she was going to need. We’d been talking for about twenty minutes when the first plane hit.”

“Where was your office located?”

“On the eightieth floor of the North Tower. Victoria was sitting in front of my desk when an enormous explosion happened. The best way I can describe it is a concussion. The building rocked and thundered. It actually leaned to the side and for a moment I thought the tower was going to topple over. Everything broke and shattered. Pictures fell from the walls, items on my desk rattled to the floor, ceiling tiles came down, and the overhead sprinklers turned on. The fluorescent lights went dark and the emergency lighting came on. I remember the sudden darkness outside. It went from a bright sunny morning to midnight. And, of course, the smell. I wasn’t able to identify the smell, which was everywhere, and didn’t put things together until that night after I had made it safely home. It was then, while I watched and rewatched the footage on the news, that I realized the odor I smelled had been jet fuel.”

Avery waited, not wanting to push too hard.

“It’s funny how the memories come back to you,” Manchester finally continued. “I remember going over to a window and looking out once the dark smoke had dissipated. I remember papers floating through the air like confetti. I remember looking down to the street and seeing the regular crowd of lower Manhattan but noticing something strange. Only later did I figure out what it was. The crowd and the cars and the buses and the taxis, they weren’t moving. Everything outside the building had stopped, as if God himself had pointed a remote control at New York City and pressed pause. Then I remember seeing this clear sludge slowly running down the window. It looked like gel, thick and soupy. Again, in that moment I had no idea what I was seeing. It was only later that night that I realized it was the jet fuel that was coating the outside of the building.”

Avery remained silent. A chill ran through her at the thought of what this man had gone through.