Chapter 11

• ANA
• “Mr. Benjamin,” I say, rising from my desk as the door opens. He walks in, all smiles and swagger. I know who he is immediately—one of those state-level politicians who once ran for governor and lost spectacularly. His opponent was just more conniving, more willing to play dirty.
• “Mrs. Orlov,” he greets me, extending his hand with that politician’s grin. It’s wide, practiced. His shake is too firm, borderline painful. I pull away quickly and rub my hand against my skirt, sitting back down and reminding myself this is just another client.