We exited on the top floor. The executive level. At the risk of sounding overimpressed, I’ll stop describing the surroundings. Suffice to say it was exquisite. Simple and understated, yet every surface, every material, was the best money could buy.

In the middle of the foyer, a marble-paneled desk rose, as if erupting from the marble floor. A beefy man in a suit sat behind a panel of television screens. When the elevator chime announced our arrival, he looked up sharply. Lucas steered me off the elevator and toward the left side of the foyer. A solid wood door on the left side of the foyer swung open. Lucas glanced at the guard, nodded, and led me through the door.

We headed into a long corridor. As the door behind us closed, I slowed, sensing something out of place. It took a moment to realize what it was. The silence. No piped-in Muzak, no voices, not even the clatter of keyboards. Not only that, but the hall itself was unlike any office corridor I’d ever seen. There were no doors along either side. Just a long hallway, branching off in the middle, and ending in a huge set of glass doors.

As we passed the midway intersection, I snuck a glance down each side. There were actually two diagonal corridors off each side, each ending in a glass door. Through each of the four glass doors I could see a reception desk and secretarial staff.

“Hector’s office to the left,” Lucas murmured. “My eldest half-brother. To the right, William and Carlos’s offices.”

“Who has the other office?” I asked. “Beside Hector’s?”

As soon as I said the words, I knew the answer, and wished I hadn’t asked.

“It’s mine,” Lucas said. “Though I’ve never worked an hour in it. An absurd waste of prime real estate, but my father keeps it staffed and stocked, because any day now I’m bound to come to my senses.”

He tried to keep his tone light, but I could hear the tightness creeping in.

“And if that ever happens, which office do I get?” I asked. “’Cause you know, I’m not going to be one of those silent-partner wives. I want a seat on the board and an office with a view.”

He smiled. “Then I’ll give you this one.”

We’d come to the end of the hall. Through the glass door I saw a reception area three times as large as the ones I’d glimpsed down the side hallways. Though it was now past six o’clock, the office was manned by a squadron of secretaries and clerks.

Like the other door, this one was automatic, and, like the last time, someone had it open before we came within ten feet. As the doors opened, the sea of staff parted to give us a path to the reception desk. The younger secretaries heralded our arrival with unconcealed gapes and stammered hellos. The older ones welcomed us with subdued smiles before quickly returning to their work.

“Mr. Cortez,” the receptionist said as we approached the desk. “A pleasure to see you, sir.”

“Thank you. Is my father in?”

“Yes, sir. Letme—”

“He’s in a meeting.” A heavyset man walked from an interior hall and headed for a bank of filing cabinets. “You should have called.”

“I’ll buzz him, sir,” the receptionist said. “He’s asked to always be notified of your arrival.”

The man across the room shuffled papers loudly enough to draw our attention. “He’s busy, Lucas. You can’t show up unannounced and drag him out of meetings. We’re running a business here.”

“Hello, William. You’re looking well.”

William Cortez. Middle brother. I could be forgiven for not reaching that conclusion earlier. The man bore little resemblance to either Lucas or Benicio. Average height and about seventy pounds overweight, with soft features that might have been girlishly handsome once, but had faded into doughy blandness. William turned to us for the first time, zapping Lucas with an irritated glare. His gaze crossed over me with only a small head shake.

“Don’t page my father, Dorinda,” William said. “Lucas can wait like the rest of us.”

She glanced at her fellow secretaries for help, but they worked harder, pretending not to notice her sinking into the quicksand of conflicting authority.

“Perhaps we should ascertain the exact nature of the request,” Lucas said. “Did my father say he could be notified or that he should be notified?”

“Should, sir. He was very clear on that.” She snuck a sidelong glance at William. “Very clear.”

“Then I’m sure neither William nor myself wishes to get you into any trouble. Please notify him that I’ve arrived, but tell him I’m not here on a matter of any urgency, so I can wait for his meeting to end.”

The receptionist fairly sighed with relief, nodded, and picked up the phone. While she called, Lucas steered me over to William, who was still at the filing cabinet.

“William,” Lucas said, dropping his voice. “I’d like to introduce you to—”

William slammed the drawer, cutting him short. He hefted a pile of folders under his arm.

“I’m busy, Lucas. Some of us work here.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out the main doors.

“Mr. Cortez?” the receptionist called from the desk. “Your father will be right out. He’d like you to wait in his office.”

Lucas thanked her and led me down the hall to the glazed-glass double doors at the end. Before we reached them, a door to our left opened and a trio of men in standard-issue middle-management suits strode out, then stopped to stare at Lucas. After a quick recovery, they offered welcomes and handshakes to the crown prince, their greetings falling just a hair short of obeisance. I snuck a peek at Lucas. As someone who normally passed through life unnoticed, what was it like to be recognized here at every turn, to have VPs twice his age falling over themselves to pay their respects?