"Then what is it?"
"I have to make another call."
I walked past her, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. She followed me as far as the threshold, but when I turned back, she had stopped beneath the warm pool of light from our room. "Daniel," she said, a new urgency entering her voice, "don't do something stupid."
I looked at the woman I had loved for four years, the woman who knew which coffee mug I used on difficult mornings and where I kept the letter my father wrote before his final hospital stay. I wondered when, exactly, she had started thinking of my trust as something she could move out of the way. "That's good advice," I said. "You should try it."
The elevator seemed to take forever. When its doors finally opened, I stepped inside and called Adrian. He answered so quickly that I knew he'd been waiting with the phone in his hand.
"Daniel?"
"Start talking."
"I don't know everything she told you."
"She told me she's in love with you."
Silence. Then he said, "We need to deal with the workshop first."
"What workshop? What truck? Who's taking things out of my building?"
"Hawthorn Fine Transport. Tessa's brother is coordinating the loading. I was told this was an authorized collection transfer to a climate-controlled facility, but the paperwork doesn't look right."
"Why are you there?"
"I arranged a buyer's preliminary examination. I thought the material was being moved with your consent."