Clara Voss worked on floor thirty.
The building stood on Sixth Street, in Denver. On Fridays Clara took the shop money home in her bag. This Friday there was nine thousand dollars in it.
At four o'clock a man came to the office door. He wore a long dark coat.
"Sorry," he said. "Are people here late on Fridays?"
"Only me," said Clara.
"Thank you," said the man. He went away down the stairs. He did not take the lift.
Clara forgot him in a minute.
At seven o'clock the lights went out.
Clara stood up and looked out of the window. The other buildings had lights. The street had lights. Only her building was dark.
She pushed the button for the lift. Nothing happened. She pushed it again. The lift was dead.
"Thirty floors," said Clara to herself. "OK. Thirty floors."
She took her bag and opened the door to the stairs. There was a small red light over every door. Clara turned on the light of her phone, and she started down.
Floor twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Her steps were loud. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.
At floor twenty-five she stopped.
Down under her, someone was on the stairs. She heard steps, and the steps came up.
Clara was happy for a moment. Another person!
"Hello!" she called. "Are the lights out in your office too?"
The steps stopped.
"Hello?" said Clara.
No answer. Then the steps started again, and they came up.
Clara did not move. She thought about the man in the long dark coat. Are people here late on Fridays? And she thought about the bag in her hand.
He knew about the money. He knew about her.
Clara went back up to floor twenty-six. She opened the door there and stood behind it in the dark, and she turned off her phone.
The steps came up to twenty-six. They stopped.
"Hello?" said a man's voice. "Are you there? The lights are out. I want to help you."
Clara put her hand over her mouth. In his light she saw the bottom of a long dark coat, and then the light moved away. The steps went up. He was on his way to floor thirty.
Clara counted to ten. Then she ran.
Twenty-five, twenty, fifteen, ten. She ran down and down with her bag, and the little red lights went by over her head.
The last door opened into the big room at the bottom of the building. Clara ran to the street door and pulled it.
There was a chain on it. A chain and a lock.
Clara stood with the chain in her hand, and then she understood. The lights did not go out. He put the chain on the door first. After that he cut the lights, and then he started up the stairs.
High over her, a door opened. The steps came down, and they came down quickly.
Next to the street door there was another small door. Clara knew that one. It went down to the cars.
She went through it and down. The cars stood in long lines in the dark. At the end of the room she saw a square of night. The big door for the cars was open.
Clara stopped. Then she put her bag down on the floor, in the middle of the way. She opened it, and she put her phone in it with the money. The light went up into the dark like a small fire.
She hid behind a car.
The steps came down. They stopped.
Clara looked under the car. She saw the bottom of the long dark coat. The man walked to the bag slowly, and he waited. Then he sat down on the floor next to it and put his two hands in the money.
Clara ran.
She ran between the cars and out of the big door, into the middle of Sixth Street. She shouted at the cars, and she shouted at the people, and a woman called the police.
The police caught him in the street.
Mr. Nash came at ten o'clock. He looked at the chain on the door, and then at Clara.
"Nine thousand dollars," he said. "You gave him our money."
"Yes," said Clara.
Mr. Nash was quiet for a moment. "Money is money," he said. "You are here. Go home."
Her daughter Sally was asleep at Mrs. Dunn's house. Clara carried her out to the car, and Sally woke up a little.
"You're late," said Sally.
"I know," said Clara. "The lift didn't work."