“My standards are fine, Jessica,” I said.
“Are they?” she laughed, a high-pitched, musical sound that set my teeth on edge. “Because Brendan was just saying how worried he is about the baby’s environment. He says your apartment does not even have a proper security system.”
“The apartment is perfectly safe,” I said.
“Well, we want the best for the child,” she said, her voice turning sweet. “After all, she will carry the Morrison name. We can’t have her growing up in a place where the front door does not even lock properly.”
I looked at her, thinking of the confidential report sitting in my desk drawer at home. The one that detailed her termination from her last marketing job for altering taxi receipts and lunch bills. She had no idea that I had already seen it, or that I could have her escorted from the building with a single phone call to Arthur.
