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215

The next morning we arrived at the Securities and Exchange Commission’s Manhattan headquarters. Johnny and Sebastian came along, as did Connor’s four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. We all made quite a sight as we took the elevator up to the fourth floor. It was like the HBO show Entourage, but with scary guys in dark suits and a tall gay man.

Connor’s lawyers met us in the lobby. Robert Schilling, the head of the firm, was there personally. He was a medium-sized man with short gray hair, Cartier glasses, and a $10,000 suit.

“Connor,” he said as they shook hands.

“Rob. Is she here?”

“Oh yes.”

Schilling led the way to a glass room where Miranda sat at a table with her fleet of lawyers.

She was strikingly beautiful in a crème designer skirt suit. Her blonde hair was arranged in a flawless chignon, revealing her elegant neck and highlighting her sculpted cheekbones. She looked like Grace Kelly, if Grace Kelly could look like she’d cut out your heart with a butter knife.

I tried to hide my fe
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