CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
As the elevator shot up toward the 11th floor, I put on the pair of gloves I had tucked into my pocket—and questioned the wisdom of what I was doing. There were fifteen floors in the building, but only eight or nine monitors at the guard desk. Assuming that the views of different floors rotated proportionately, I guessed that I had a roughly 50-50 chance of getting caught in a lie. With any luck, the office door lock wasn’t some kind of bizarre combination of buttons and retinal scan (which seemed excessive, even for a law firm) and would respond to my bump key.
The elevator doors opened onto a wide strip of burgundy carpet that stretched down the hall. The elevator door faced the entrance to the law firm. Through the glass doors, I could just barely make out what seemed to be a smartly decorated waiting area—there was muted light from a hidden source. But there were no clues as to whether anyone else was in the office. The glow of light seemed to come from beyond the receptionist area. Perhaps from a computer or other device someone had left on. There were no shadows of movement. Hoping the coast was clear, I decided take my chances.
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