I opened the wrong door on the fiftieth floor and saw what the most powerful woman in the company had been hiding — the next morning she put eighty-five thousand dollars on the desk.

A woman was walking onto a secure floor three nights a week with a story that did not survive eleven seconds of thought, and I wrote it down like a good soldier and then filed it, because I was frightened of my own rent.

It took a woman on a carpet and a briefcase of cash and nine days and a phone call at half eleven at night before anybody asked me a single question.
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Nobody ever asks the cleaner.

I had the answer in a notebook for six weeks.