So I sit in this terrible chair in the lobby of Lazarev Global with my notebook open and my pen ready, and I wait for someone to come downstairs and talk to me.
I don’t have to wait too long before a woman in a gray pantsuit appears from behind the turnstiles. She has a fashionably sharp bob and no jewelry except for a thin gold watch around her dainty wrist. She walks toward me with a practiced smile that says, I deal with people like you for a living and I’m very good at making them go away.
“Ms. Pierce? I’m Vera Sorokina, communications director for Lazarev Global.”
I stand and shake her hand with a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sorokina. Thanks for coming down.”
“Of course.” She very pointedly doesn’t invite me to join her anywhere. “Unfortunately, Mr. Lazarev’s schedule is
