There was no juicy gossip to be had here. I’d have to make do with my sordid fantasies of catching him in the act and my mother divorcing him and getting half his fortune.

When I entered the elevator, I didn’t see a number listed for his floor. There was, however, a keycard slot near the bottom, which I assumed was meant for people like me. I slipped mine in and the panel sucked it in, holding it in place as some digital process read the card and instructed the elevator to take me to the appropriate floor.

That, at least, was interesting, and a phenomenal way of keeping out...