Frank approached the front desk. “Sir… we need to speak to Dr. Olivia Whitmore… it’s family… it’s urgent…”
The doorman didn’t even look up. “Do you have an appointment?”
Diane coughed softly, performing frailty. “No… but tell her we’re old friends… we came from out of town… we just need help getting home…”
He sighed, clearly irritated. “You can’t stand here. Without authorization, you need to move along.”
At that moment Olivia came in from the garage—heels clicking, white coat folded over her arm, phone pressed to her ear.
Frank’s heart jumped. “Oli—” he almost blurted.
He stopped himself.
Diane stepped forward. “Doctor, please… we’re hungry… we came a long way… we only need help to get back home…”
Olivia frowned.
She looked at them like they were a stain in the scenery. “Security can call a social worker. I can’t do anything right now.”
She didn’t meet their eyes.
She walked inside.
The glass doors closed.
Something cracked inside Frank.
Diane squeezed his hand. “Come on.”
Door Two: Ethan
In Manhattan, Ethan lived in a high-rise with a river view.
When they buzzed the intercom, a building employee answered. “Yes?”
“We need to speak to Ethan Whitmore… it’s important…”