Chapter 8: The Parking Garage

Nine weeks. Nine weeks of studios and late nights and Dante in the control room with his sleeves rolled, watching me through the glass with an expression that made engineers suddenly need coffee. Nine weeks of learning that the most feared man in New York got quiet and strange every time I laughed. He gave me a necklace — thin gold, a tiny key on it. He fastened it himself, standing behind me at the mirror. "To what?" I asked. "Everything," he said. "This building. That safe. Any door...