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"So, moving forward, what would be the best possible way to make sure we stay at the top of our game? Huh? Hard work? Determination? Discipline? Team work?"

Farr stared at each of his employees— minions, he called them, when no one was around.

Emma sat at the head of the table, staring disgustedly at her colleague. Farr was no idiot, but he sure acted like one. She thought Farr was the biggest jackass in NYC. These people were doing everything they could under the reign of their supervisor, following every order, listening to every goddamn spiel when something didn't go right. And yet, nothing was good enough for him. He was a good business partner, but a terrible boss.

"How are we going to turn around from this, huh?"

"Jack," Emma started, pinching the bridge of her nose. Emma was well respected, both as a leader and as a business partner. She, Jack Farr, and a man named Drew Davis, partnered in owning their graphic design company. At least Davis was easy to get along with.

"What?" Farr said, turning to Emma. Emma flared her nostrils as she took in a heavy sigh.

"Maybe go get some water." The young woman turned to all of Farr's section, who were the ones doing the marketing part of the company. The poor intern he'd just hired was tucked away in the corner of the room, trying her hardest to look invisible. The rest of them stared expectantly at her, hoping she would dismiss them for at least five minutes.

Emma was in charge of the art department, overseeing the creativity and originality in graphic design. Farr was in charge of marketing, and he was a damn good salesman, as much as Emma hated to admit it. Davis was a master at catchphrases and fonts, making him the head of all the text. All three of their talents put together really made up for a lot of logos and stationery for up-and-coming companies and businesses.

JED, Inc. was successfully taking over New York, and fast.

"We'll finish this meeting later. We've been stuck here for three hours. I think we could all use a coffee break."

"Sanderson, we have to finish this now," Farr said, his round face growing bright red. He looked like someone had shoved a lit firecracker up his ass. Emma wished someone would.

"Quite frankly, I don't give a shit. We're all testy because of our failed deal last week. We just need to take a minute away, recollect ourselves, and figure out a better scheme. For now, coffee."

Farr wanted to continue arguing, but he didn't. He knew better than to argue with her. For a small woman, Emma was quite powerful. Emma, satisfied that Farr wasn't going to put up a fight, grabbed up her jacket and promptly left the meeting room.

As Emma stepped into the break room to make herself a coffee, her phone started to ring.

Odd, she thought. I could have sworn I turned it off.

Emma pulled her phone out of her pants pocket. The caller wasn't saved in her contacts, but under the number was Derry, Maine. Emma hated answering numbers she didn't know, but, as a businesswoman, it was necessary. It could be a new client. The thought of new prospects from different states excited her. However, she also hated to think of the possibility that it might be about her father, who was getting up there in age.

Jesse still lived in Derry, but had long since retired as police chief due to his health. Emma talked to Jesse at least once a week. He always said he was doing fine, but sometimes Emma wasn't sure if he was being truthful or not. She felt selfish she hadn't been to see him since she moved away— rather, she always paid for his flights down to New York, but she hated the thought of being in Derry and wasn't always sure why.

"Emma Sanderson speaking," she greeted, posting her best customer service voice. She turned to start filling her eco-mug with dark brew, remembering a mental note she'd made earlier that morning to order more creamers and sweeteners for the coffee station. She'd already had at least four people on her back about it, Farr included.

"Emma, hi. This is Mike."

She paused for a brief second. "Mike? Mike who? I know lots of Mikes." She stirred her coffee.

"Mike Hanlon, from Derry." Oh.

Emma's heart fell and she nearly dropped her phone. She hadn't talked to Mike in almost thirty years. Emma turned way too quickly and knocked her mug over, spilling its contents everywhere. Shit.

"Mike!" Emma exclaimed, somewhere between happy to hear from him and nervous as to why he could possibly be calling. She quickly started her search for some paper towels. "How's it hanging?"

"Um, not great, to be honest," Mike replied, his voice sounding shaky. Her stomach twisted in knots. She knew what was coming. "You need to come home."

Return to Derry? Has it really been that long? As several thoughts flew through Emma's head, she found herself staring at the thick scar on the palm of her hand. She prayed this wasn't happening.

Flashes of red balloons flooded Emma's mind and she couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't for a solid minute or two.

"Emma?" Mike called, snapping Emma from her thoughts.

"Uh-um, yes. When should I come?" Emma asked hurriedly, setting her eco-mug back by the coffee pot and leaning against the counter for support. She held her phone between her ear and shoulder, afraid she'd drop it and crack the screen again. She couldn't help how anxious she was.

"Tomorrow."