She stood slowly, picked up the glass Thomas had brought her, and finished the water. She did not pretend the morning had left her untouched. Her throat was tight, and the inside of her elbow still remembered the way a man had once gripped it years earlier after she questioned an expense at a meeting. But she had come here to learn whether the words on the wall were practiced when it mattered.
Now she had an answer. And before leaving that lobby, she intended to make certain it was recorded accurately.
Helena saw Madison approaching the elevator and stepped into her path. She lifted one hand, palm out, using the gesture of someone accustomed to giving orders without explaining them. "Stop there," she said. "You have not been cleared to use the executive elevator. I told you that already."
"I am going to the boardroom," Madison answered. "Please step aside."
"You've been waiting here for nearly an hour, refusing to cooperate," Helena said. "You cannot simply decide to walk upstairs. If you do not show identification, I'll have security remove you."
"I offered to identify myself through the published procedure," Madison replied. "Nobody has completed it. I have not threatened anyone, and I have not refused a legitimate instruction."
Helena ignored the distinction. She snapped her fingers sharply toward the security station, then called for immediate assistance in a voice that bounced from the marble walls. Two younger guards approached at a hurried pace, their boots making short squeaks across the polished floor. Thomas followed more slowly, already holding his incident notebook.
Bradley joined Helena beside the elevator. "You've had your chance, sweetheart," he said. "Open the bag, cooperate, or we're calling the police. Those are your options."
"No," Madison said. "I do not consent to an informal search of my belongings. If you believe I am unauthorized, complete the visitor check or ask the building supervisor to speak with me."
Bradley laughed. "You're in our building. You don't get to invent the rules."
He reached forward and caught her leather portfolio as she adjusted it against her side. His movement was abrupt enough that Madison took half a step back to maintain her balance. A document slid partway out before she caught the folder again, its letterhead visible beneath the lobby lights. Bradley's gaze fell on the page, and Madison watched him read the bold heading: Sterling Holdings Capital, Board Chairwoman Introductory Remarks, Ten Thirty A.M.
For a moment the man's expression emptied. He knew Sterling's name, he knew the acquisition price, and he had attended meetings about the incoming owner for months. He also knew that he had been speaking to this woman as though she were incapable of understanding a room assignment. But instead of asking the obvious question, he pushed the paper back into the folder and let go of it so carelessly that it struck Madison's coat.
"People can print anything," he muttered. "Probably downloaded a fake letterhead. Doesn't prove anything."