Vera makes a small, strangled noise behind me, but I’m two steps ahead of her as I stride across the lobby floor. The CEO of the company I’m investigating just walked into my line of sight like a gift from the journalism gods, and I’m not about to let Vera Sorokina and her reasonable timeframe stand between me and a face-to-face with Kir Lazarev.
I’m rehearsing the opening line in my head. Something casual but direct. Mr. Lazarev, I’m Jillian Pierce with the Times, I’d love just two minutes of your time. Keep it short. Keep it friendly. Don’t spook him.
I’m maybe fifteen feet away when Kir turns.
Not toward me, but away. He angles his body to face the man in glasses more fully, and as he does, his head leans to the right and his collar shifts. The back of his neck is exposed above the l
