Lacy turned her desk chair away from the computer. She had 20 something unread emails in her inbox and another 20 that she ‘read’ but had yet to take action on. She looked out the floor-to-ceiling window of her 35th floor office and remembered how badly her supervisor at the time wanted her to join his team, that he pitched: “you can have my office, it has a wall of windows.” What the supervisor failed to tell Lacy (besides a cruel work-life balance, a corrupt executive team, oh the list goes on) was that the window overlooked another high rise building that was mid-build before COVID-19 caused a pause in construction that has yet to resume, something about either the construction company or the building landlord going bankrupt. Lacy couldn’t remember this part, but she wasn’t really listening to her third - no fourth? - supervisor who was actually jealous of the windowed office.

As Lacy was looking out the window, at the skeleton of the neglected building, she wondered if construction had continued and was completed, who would be sitting across from her looking back. She imagined a young inspiring lawyer, fresh out of school, maybe newly engaged - no, actually single and not ready to mingle because she was career driven at this point in life. After all, isn’t law school expensive? Better work her way up while young and unattached and if being a lawyer and making partner didn’t destroy her, as Lacy’s insurance job did to her, maybe then she would start a family.

Family. The f word. Lacy stood up and walked the few feet to her window and put her hand to the glass. She wanted to warn the girl. Your husband will have an affair and his lover will get pregnant and they will want to keep the child and he doesn’t know if he wants to be with her or you. Your brother will be in juvie at 15 and then spend his twenties in and out of rehab or jail. Your mom will have died of cancer and your dad, he died of a broken heart, literally and figuratively. Your son will be walking home from school when…

Lacy was interrupted from her thoughts with the ringing of her office phone. She considered not answering it because she knew it was her supervisor asking her why she hadn’t responded to the emails. But Lacy sincerely tried to be the best employee, even though it went unnoticed. She walked back to her desk, sat in her chair, and after the fifth ring, she answered “This is Lacy” instead of the proper greeting she was supposed to say in case it was a client: “Ritcker Insurance. This is Lacy Richardson. How can I help you?”

“Is this Lacy Richardson?”

“Yes.” Lacy answered confused and concerned. This was not her supervisor. Her supervisor at least new her name.

“Ms. Richardson, I am Detective Grover, new to the cold case team. There is a new lead in your son’s disappearance. Would you be able to come down to the station?”