Sir Walter Scott Beth unlocks her office door, trudges in, and collapses into her executive leather office chair. Unlocking the bottom right drawer, she pulls out the materials she collected at Vicky’s house. She sighs. “Boy, today has been unbelievable.” She notices the light for her phone’s mailbox blinking as she reaches to turn on her desk lamp. She presses the mailbox play button. An emulated, monotone female voice says, “You have three messages. Message number one …” “Hey Beth, it’s Sam. Kyle and I decided to take a trip to the Bahamas. I’ll call you in a week or so when I get back. Later,” Sam’s happy voice says. “Message deleted. Message number two …” “Hey hon, it’s Elliot. Got the car. I’m head’n back home. Give me a call if you’re goin’ over that stuff. I’ll come back.” “Message deleted. Message number three …” The phone plays silence for fourteen seconds followed by the click of a terminated connection. “Nice,” Beth says, barely audible.
