The atmosphere at the Astoria Daily Press was incredibly tense.
Several plainclothes bodyguards stood guard at the entrance. Their expressions were ferocious, like malevolent gatekeepers, and they refused entry to anyone.
Inside the office, the few colleagues who had arrived early all had their heads bowed, not daring to even breathe too loudly.
At Phoebe Lockwood's desk, Bernard Lockwood sat in his precious daughter's chair, a dark expression on his face. He was flipping through a copy of *So Desperate to Love You, My Dear*, but he wasn't actually reading it.
When Claire Sinclair reached the entrance and saw the two plainclothes bodyguards standing on either side of the door, her heart jolted, and a sense of foreboding washed over her.
'What happened so early in the morning?'
Claire Sinclair walked in and, from a distance, saw Bernard Lockwood sitting in Phoebe Lockwood's seat, his expression grim.
