"You're Vivienne Griffin. You're Vivienne Griffin."
The mantra echoed in Vivienne's mind as she stepped through the doors of the New York Police Station.
Her designer Stella Monroe sunglasses provided perfect cover, masking the terror threatening to spill from her eyes.
"Mrs. Griffin," a female officer approached.
"Where is my daughter?" Vivienne's voice cut through the air, steady and controlled.
Saul stepped up beside her, his crisp blue suit commanding attention. "We need to see her immediately."
The officer gave a quick nod. "Follow me."
They moved toward the staircase, Vivienne's heels clicking against the worn linoleum.
Her chest tightened as they passed clusters of officers—some uniformed, others in plain clothes.
She acknowledged a few with subtle nods, fighting to maintain her composure. Years had passed since she'd last walked these halls, but the same suffocating anxiety clawed at her stomach.
