Dreams of the Golden Age

SEVENTEEN

“ANNA knows,” Arthur said.

Late at night, he came to stay with her in the guest room. Nurse her, more like. She was too cranky and in pain to sleep, so she propped up a laptop on pillows next to her, thinking maybe she could get some work done. She couldn’t just lie there, could she? But she was having trouble focusing on the screen. Reading a single e-mail seemed to take an hour, so she ended up just staring at the device, pretending, too woozy to do anything else.

However angry Anna might be with her on general principle, Espionage came through, using an anonymous e-mail address to send a pack of information on the McClosky and Patterson firm. Now if only Celia could concentrate enough to read. But she was supposed to be delegating, so she forwarded the packet on to her law team. The initial court hearing was in a couple of days; the info had arrived just in time.

Her little nudge had worked, and she resisted feeling guilty about it. She was a terrible mother, just awful. Either that, or she was successfully encouraging her daughter in her current interests. Sure.

She was frustrated and depressed. “One day at a time” had turned into “one hour at a time,” and Celia could imagine a point when it would become “one minute at a time,” just trying to breathe enough to make it to the next day. She’d recover soon enough. She had to. She refused not to. But for this particular round of treatment, she would just lie here, weakly fuming.

“Anna knows what?” she murmured.

“She knows that you haven’t really gone away. That you’ve been here the whole time.” He sat on the edge of the bed, delicately, like he was afraid of disturbing her. She wanted him to hold her but was afraid that his touch would hurt. So he kept back.

“How could she possibly know? What is she doing, hacking into the building’s security cameras? Spying on me?” But she stopped, stared a moment, and the pieces fell into place. A roiling sense of discovery. “It’s her power, it’s mental. Telepathic, like you.” Squeezing his hand made her ache, but she did it anyway, because his touch was more important than pain right now. “How long have you known?”

“About three years. It seems to have started then. She’s only really been learning how to use it in the last year. It’s not precisely telepathy, more like what I’d call psycholocation. She knows where people are.”

Celia put her head in her hands. So many pieces falling into place.

Arthur went on. “I’ve been waiting for her to say something, encouraging her to talk about it. But she’s only retreated, burying it all deeper and deeper. She’s gotten very good at blocking me. If I didn’t know her so well already I wouldn’t be able to read her at all.”

“You sound proud of her,” Celia said.

“I am. She … I think she wants to see if she can do this on her own. She wants to live up to some kind of ideal she’s invented for herself. Sounds like someone else I know, eh?”

“This is my fault, isn’t it? I’m a terrible mother.” She snuggled closer to Arthur, and he took the cue, putting his arms around her, holding her. The pain faded.

“No, you aren’t,” he said dutifully. “Celia, she’s going to continue asking what’s going on. I don’t know what to tell her. I can only put her off for so long. It’s not really fair to her, when I keep asking her to share her secrets. Suzanne is worried, but she’s very sensitive about giving you space. No one wants to pressure you, but the fear is there.”

She thought for a long time. Thinking had become difficult. “My parents never kept secrets from me. I always knew who they were and what they were doing.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll tell her. I’ll tell everyone. Let me get through the court hearing. Let me get well again, and I’ll tell.”

“I love you, Celia.”

“I don’t deserve you, Arthur.” The guilt crept into her voice because she was too weak to hold it back.

He touched her face, tipped her head back, kissed her lightly, knowing exactly how much pressure he could use before she started hurting. His love washed through her like a drug, one that burned fiercely but left strength behind it instead of weakness. She could change the world with him standing beside her. All his love said that yes, she did deserve it. Somehow.

When Anna was about six and Bethy was three, Anna fell. Celia had been carrying Bethy and, arms full of squirming little girl, didn’t see exactly what happened, but they’d been descending the stairs outside the Natural History Museum on a summer outing, and Anna was running too fast. Celia called to her to slow down, but Anna didn’t listen. Celia hadn’t really expected her to, but the calling out had been an instinct. You did it because at least then you’d tried. The alternative was keeping the kids on leashes, and while Arthur joked about her being controlling, she wasn’t that bad, she hoped.

So Anna fell, probably tripped, and just for a moment, she flew. For that split second, Celia would swear she saw her daughter suspended in air, weightless as no person ever could be, sailing in defiance of gravity, and her heart lodged in her throat, not because her daughter had tripped, but because this was it, the thing that would change their lives, the power she’d been searching for and hoping she wouldn’t find.

But no, Anna hadn’t really flown. Her momentum had simply carried her down the rest of the stairs and onto the sidewalk below, and Celia’s perception of time had slowed during that fraction of a second. Postcrash, the kid had screamed like a banshee, bystanders came running and gave Celia that look that people always gave the mothers of screaming children, the this-must-be-your-fault look, until it became clear that it was just an accident, one of those things that happen to little kids. By that time Bethy was screaming because Anna was screaming, and Celia managed to ignore them both long enough to call the car and rush to the hospital.

Broken arm. Anna had stuck her hand out, cracking the bone on impact, and that was another power Celia could check off the list—Anna didn’t have her grandfather’s invulnerability to injury. But for the first time, Celia wished both her children had that superpower, suddenly envying her own grandmother for never having to worry about the young Warren West breaking himself in a fall.

Anna was very proud of the purple cast she had to wear for the next five weeks. Celia decided that maybe she wouldn’t worry so much about whether the kids had powers. They would fall, they would fly, they would run as fast as they could, they’d have good days and bad.

When the girls hit puberty, the watching started again, but the anomalies Anna displayed had more to do with being a teenager than being superhuman. And after all was said and done, the power she ended up with had no external manifestation. It was undetectable.

Celia couldn’t win this game.

After just a couple of days of being sequestered on her “trip,” Celia returned to her office Monday morning and swore she found a layer of dust on her desk, and her computer was cold. Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d done to keep West Corp alive and growing after her father’s death was slipping away.

This was an exaggeration. But her strength had become precious. She felt that the least shock would destroy her, and her life’s work seemed fragile. She’d look away, and it would vanish.

She had an hour or so to review the information for the case before heading to court. The evidence Anna had been able to dig up was … interesting. Blurry pictures of check stubs and invoices that on their own didn’t mean anything, but when lined up revealed a financial smokescreen. It proved McClosky and Patterson was a front, but Celia’d already suspected that. The data also offered a new name, the next step on the trail: Delta Exploratory Investments was a holding company, one she’d actually heard of, and one whose line of ownership was much easier to track because it wasn’t just a front. She dug into her own notes, the thick file folder full of research about the other companies making bids on the city development project, and there it was: Delta Exploratory was the company through which Delta Ventures, Danton Majors’s company, had made its own bid. This gave her a straight line between the lawsuit and Majors. Her lawyers had built a powerful case for their defense. They weren’t just hopeful, they were smug.

Maybe Anna really had been paying attention all those afternoons she’d spent in Celia’s office, just hanging out. She’d brought them exactly what they needed. God, she wanted to hug the kid right now.

A phone call to Mark confirmed that a patrol had spotted two of the young new supers out and about a couple of nights ago—descriptions matched Anna and the stranger, the jumper whom none of them could identify. Him, and not Teddy? And how the hell did Anna know this guy? It made her question her assessment that he must have been a stranger. It made her worry about Anna more, not less.

If she trusted Anna this far, she had to trust her daughter’s instincts about this as well. But it wasn’t easy.

Out in the kitchen, the girls had finished breakfast and were gathering their things to head to school. The usual, perfectly normal weekday morning chaos of the house. Celia paused, just to listen—Suzanne clearing away juice and cereal, the girls arguing back and forth about who put whose uniform sweater where, and where their books were. Bethy was already at the elevator. Anna was moving more slowly, lingering by the kitchen table, rearranging books in her bag. The school uniform made her look younger, and Celia had to remind herself that she was almost an adult. Almost full grown.

“Hi,” Celia said. Then just stood, watching.

Anna looked at her sidelong. “Hey, Mom.”

Whew, deep breath, stay calm. “If you have time after school today—do you think we could have a talk?”

Her daughter froze, just for a moment. And what must she be thinking? She seemed to shake herself back to the moment. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good,” Celia said. Her relief was physical, the tension of weeks draining away. “Looking forward to it.”

Anna flashed a nervous smile. “That hearing about the lawsuit’s today, right? How do you think it’s going to go?”

“I think it’s going to be just fine. I expect the whole suit to get thrown out. We got some last-minute information that really pushed our case over the top.” Thank you. After school today, she’d be able to just say thanks.

“Good. That’s good,” Anna said, totally straightforward. She’d learned her poker face from her father, after all. “Well, good luck with it all.”

“Thanks. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

“Don’t forget,” Anna said, “you promised a vacation when you’re done with all this lawsuit stuff. I’m holding you to it.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Anna, we’re going to be late!” Bethy shouted from the next room.

“I’ll see you this afternoon,” Anna said, waving as she peeled into the foyer to the elevators.

Anna was going to be just fine. Maybe Celia wasn’t a terrible mother after all.

“Vacation,” Suzanne said, wandering in from the kitchen. “I like the sound of that.”

Celia smiled. “Yeah, so do I.”

“Is everything okay?” her mother asked, gaze narrowed.

“No,” Celia said, before she could edit herself. It just popped out. Then she realized that saying no was a relief. No, everything was not okay. She’d said it, it was out there. Good. “I have to be at court in an hour, and you know how I feel about court appearances.”

“And who can blame you?” Suzanne said, putting on a cheerful face. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Celia sighed. She’d made it this far, she could get through today as well. Onward.

For a long time, Celia had hated courtrooms.

She still had bad dreams—hard to call them nightmares, when they were vague and nerve-racking rather than terrifying—about the trial of Simon Sito, the Destructor, where she’d been called as a witness and her brief foray into juvenile delinquency as one of the defendant’s hench-idiots had been exposed to the world. The revelation destroyed her budding relationship with Mark Paulson, damaged her friendship with Analise, and cemented her reputation in the city as the completely useless bag of flesh who’d failed her amazing parents, the Olympiad. Yet oddly enough, her testimony started to repair her relationship with her parents. They stood by her during those rough weeks. Arthur stood by her.

Courtrooms were fraught. On one hand, they were a symbol of bureaucratic tediousness. On the other, they destroyed—and repaired—lives. On the whole, she preferred that her confrontation with Danton Majors was going to take place in the formal, controlled atmosphere of a courtroom rather than come to a head in the kind of showdown that her parents would have faced back in the day, bolts of fire and laser beams blasting destruction across the sky. Courtrooms were always better battlefields, and she’d come to embrace them. Even though they still gave her hives. They smelled like paper and cheap floor polish.

Midmorning, Celia led her team into this particular courtroom like a general at the head of her army. Motions and countersuits, all lined up. She was high on painkillers and caffeine, but no one needed to know that. If this went as planned, she wouldn’t have to say a word. Just sit there looking serene and in control. Bored, even, if she could manage it. Without actually looking sleepy, which she might not be able to manage. Security wouldn’t let her bring one more cup of coffee into the courtroom, alas.

Danton Majors was in the gallery, seemingly out of innocent curiosity, but she thought he might look a tiny bit worried. He sat a little too still, and his gaze was a little too focused. He glanced toward her when she came in, and his reply to the bright smile she gave him seemed somewhat pained. One of his aides from the committee meetings had accompanied him, a young man—another monkey in a suit. Protégé, lawyer, secretary? Bodyguard? Or did Majors just like having minions around?

On the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom, Superior Construction made a good show of appearing to be legitimate. The central figure, a large man in a light gray suit, was the on-paper owner of the company. The gray-haired shark to his left was McClosky, of McClosky and Patterson. Celia’s team had learned that Patterson had retired five years ago, and McClosky maintained the skeleton of the law firm for exactly this sort of purpose—fronting shells, corporate smoke and mirrors. Right now, McClosky only had one client: Delta Ventures.

More men in suits accompanied them, giving every sign of presenting a strong front. Aides, clerks, additional staff, whatever. Records would show they’d been hired in the last month, about the time the initial suit was filed. Nothing in the up-front admissible evidence would show any double-dealing. Which was why Celia’s investigation had gone through back channels: payroll tax filings, building permits on record. Walk through the door of Superior, you’d find nothing but bare wooden struts holding up the pretty front.

This was all theater, anyway.

A bailiff called them to attention, and the judge entered. She was a no-nonsense woman who would get through this quickly and without fuss, Celia hoped. She declared the session opened, called opposing attorneys to the bench, gave instructions, papers were exchanged, quiet conversations held. The performance continued.

Her team was the best money could buy, but the secret to a successful business was that you couldn’t actually buy the best. You had to earn their loyalty by winning them over. By bestowing your own loyalty, by promising them you’d look after them, protect them, and then making good on the promise. Make it infinitely worth their while to do their very best work for you. Money had very little to do with those considerations in the end. Celia’s employees worked hard for her because they loved working for West Corp. They respected her. She worked hard to earn their respect. When her lawyers prepared their arguments and countersuit, they weren’t just doing it for her, they did it out of pride in the company. They felt like they had a stake in it all. Of course they worked hard.

Such a small investment of her own respect and loyalty, with such endless rewards. These hired puppets working for Danton Majors didn’t stand a chance.

Her frame of mind was solidly in a state of offense and attack, so she had to remind herself that West Corp was the defendant here, and she didn’t get to just stand up and reveal all. The case was read, antitrust complaints brought by Superior Construction, monopolistic practices, so on and so forth, suing for seven figures of damages and a stay on any bid made by West Corp or any of its subsidiaries.

The evidence they brought forward was all in the public record: newspaper articles, building licenses, contracting bids, property deals, investments, tax returns. Celia wasn’t worried about any of her dealings being pried open and investigated. She ran West Corp as transparently as she could and adhered to all reporting laws for precisely this reason—she wasn’t going to be the one sideswiped in court, not over something stupid like a frivolous lawsuit.

One of her lawyers accompanied the team for the sole purpose of countering every single piece of evidence Superior Construction brought. The rest of her team was set to filing the countersuit and proving that Superior wasn’t what it said it was.

Her lawyers proceeded in a rapid patter of legalese, drowning the court in an avalanche of orchestrated data. Exhibit after exhibit entered into the record, charts and graphics showing that West Corp adhered to the spirit of the law as well as the letter, and the diversity of construction and contracting firms proved without a doubt that West Corp had not damaged competition in Commerce City.

Then the countersuit, after a motion to have Superior Construction’s suit thrown out as frivolous. The judge didn’t react, so this couldn’t have been unexpected. Good.

“Your Honor, we can show without a doubt that Superior Construction has not only not been damaged by West Corp’s business practices, but that Superior Construction, in fact, does not exist in enough of a recognizable corporate form to be damaged by normal competitive business practices.” This was Liz Bastion, one of West Corp’s senior litigators, thirty-five and a badass. Celia had hired her personally out from under another firm and liked her a lot. She wanted the woman on her side precisely so she’d never have to face her down in court like this.

Then came the evidence Espionage—Anna—had provided, cleaned, vetted, and supplemented so that all appeared legal and admissible. Mountains of paperwork followed, tax returns and property records, newspaper articles and testimony from public officials, and a beautiful visual aid, a chart showing organizational structures linking Superior Construction to the shell of a law firm on up to Delta Ventures and Delta Exploratory, and to Danton Majors. They never mentioned Majors by name, because that wasn’t the point here. But they didn’t have to. On the plaintiff side, McClosky glanced back nervously at Majors, which just about clinched it. They hadn’t expected Celia and West Corp to go digging, had they? They thought that legal loopholes and shields would protect their corporate façade.

Or they’d known the edifice wouldn’t withstand scrutiny, and in essence the true purpose of the charade was simply to embarrass Celia and delay the city development vote. Which was why her team needed not just to defend West Corp, but to crush the suit into oblivion.

“In obvious conclusion,” Bastion declaimed, “the plaintiff’s suit and claims are not merely frivolous, they are actively meant to damage the defendant and the defendant’s reputation. They are a conflict of interest and potentially illegal based on city statutes regarding business licensing and fair business practices, the details of which are outlined in a countersuit that West Corp plans on filing against the defendant. We’d like to enter a copy of the preliminary filing into the records as Exhibit BB. In light of these considerations, the defense moves to have the suit brought by Superior Construction against West Corp dismissed entirely because it is frivolous, obstructionist, and a conflict of interest for a plaintiff who is merely seeking to eliminate competition, not engender it. Thank you, Your Honor.”

The judge scanned the latest file folder that Bastion delivered to her, her frown growing deeper, her brow more furrowed. When the judge glanced at the plaintiff’s side, not with neutral regard but with active annoyance, Celia knew she’d won.

After a moment of thought, the judge announced, “Would both counsels please approach the bench.”

After a discussion that ran long enough to be agonizing, the judge straightened. “All right, it’s an unusual request, but I’ll give you more rope to hang yourself, if that’s what you really want.”

“Your Honor, I want to state my objection to this for the record,” Bastion said, fuming, her jaw taut.

“Your objection is noted and overruled. Counsel, you have the floor,” the judge said to the plaintiff.

What was going on? Then Celia found out.

“Your Honor, we’d like to call Celia West to the stand.”

Of course. It always came down to her. Bastards.

Bastion returned to the defense table. “I’m sorry, I tried to stop this,” she whispered to Celia.

Wearing a weary smile, Celia shook her head. “Don’t worry. This just proves it isn’t about the company at all. It’s about me.”

She suddenly wished Arthur was here, sitting in the gallery, offering his support by his mere presence.

—You know I’m always with you, don’t you?—

Her heartbeat steadied, her breathing slowed. —Thank you.—

—Of course, my love.—

She settled into the witness stand and, hand on Bible, gave her oath in a confident voice.

She couldn’t imagine what questions they wanted to ask her. Her own guilty conscience offered up bizarre possibilities: Is it true you’ve neglected your daughters in favor of furthering your business? Can you tell us how you’ve lied about your recent medical diagnosis? Aren’t your efforts to win the planning committee contract more about stroking your own ego than benefiting the city? Well, she wouldn’t say more, regarding that one. The considerations were about equal. The rest, she would throw herself on the mercy of the court and hope for forgiveness.

The plaintiffs had hired an experienced trial lawyer, and it was this guy, a Marshal Jones, who questioned her, not McClosky. Alas.

“Ms. West, to what lengths would you go to ensure that West Corp wins this city development contract?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“You’ve researched your competition, of course. You know the other companies competing for this contract, you know their resources. I simply want to know if you’ve taken any actions beyond the usual due diligence.”

She thought she knew what he was asking, but he was really just feeding her rope, hoping she’d tie it around her own neck, so she played dumb. “I’m still not sure what you mean. Can you give me some examples?”

“Is it conceivable, in your opinion, that your extensive influence among city officials gives you an unfair advantage and handicaps your competition?”

“No,” she said. “I think filing a frivolous lawsuit is what attempting to handicap your competition looks like.”

The few observers in the courtroom tittered. The judge frowned, unamused. “Just answer the original question, Ms. West.”

“I have no control over my competition, and my competition has as much access to city officials as I do. I’m better off not worrying about them and focusing on my own efforts. So to answer your first question, I’d do everything I legally could to present a solid bid that benefits everyone so the city can’t possibly award the contract to anyone else. No need at all for the kind of gamesmanship you’re implying.”

“You—and West Corp—seem to have what one might call … what would one call it?” He turned to his colleagues as if he really was asking for advice and not playacting. “Obsession? With Commerce City and its development.”

She chuckled. This was making no sense, but that gave her all the more reason to squash this clown flat so no one would entertain the doubts he was trying to raise.

“Commerce City has been my family’s home for generations. West Corp is one of Commerce City’s oldest family businesses, and its dedication to making contributions to the city and its growth is well documented. I’m sorry that looks like obsession to you.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit disingenuous, Ms. West, to call a multimillion-dollar corporate entity a family business?”

“No. Not when it’s been helmed by a West for three generations. What else would you call it?”

“A grab for power, Ms. West. Outside of normal political channels. Corporate domineering.”

She smirked. “I haven’t gone into politics precisely because I’m trying to do some good in the world, Mr. Jones.”

That got a laugh, and Jones flushed, finally looking a tiny bit flustered.

“And it’s your definition of good that must prevail—”

She leaned forward. “I’m just trying to make a living, like everyone else.”

The judge interrupted. “Mr. Jones, I think you’re finished here. Counsel for the defense, do you have any follow-up questions for the witness?”

“No, Your Honor, I do not,” Bastion said.

“Ms. West, you may step down.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” she said politely and returned to her place. By Bastion’s pleased expression—looking a bit like a cat with a plate of fresh tuna—Celia assumed her responses had been acceptable. She had to work not to slouch in her chair, deflated. Her performance had about tapped her energy reserves. Maybe this wouldn’t take too much longer. She could go home, tell everyone she was sick, and sleep for the next two months.

It didn’t. The judge spoke: “In light of evidence and testimony presented, I find the suit brought against West Corp by Superior Construction to be baseless. Not just baseless but baseless in the extreme. I encourage counsel for West Corp to proceed with any countersuit it might have prepared, but this initial hearing is over. And to the plaintiff, I have a warning: My statement on this case will be strongly worded, so keep that in mind if you’re thinking of appealing, because I predict such an appeal will not go well for you. Case most definitely dismissed.” The gavel cracked. Celia sighed.

She gathered the energy to look over her shoulder at Danton Majors—and found him staring back at her, frowning. So he really was out to get her. Not West Corp, not the development contract, but her, and she wondered why. Why he wanted to, and why he thought he could. He’d failed, and here he was, Danton Majors, lying bloodied and defeated on the field of battle, never to recover. Nice image, but nothing that could ever happen in real life.

Her team was shaking hands, congratulating each other. Bastion crossed the aisle to shake hands with Jones, who complied but snarled as he did. Celia settled her purse strap over her shoulder and passed through to the gallery.

“Mr. Majors,” she said. “I look forward to seeing you when the planning committee reconvenes to make its vote on the development contract.”

“Yes, I imagine you do. Don’t get too confident, though.”

“Oh? You have a backup plan in case this little dog-and-pony show didn’t work?” She couldn’t keep a dig out of her voice.

“Ms. West, I really must be going. I’ve been away from Delta too long. But it’s been interesting meeting you.”

“I just bet it has.”

The rest of her law team returned to West Plaza in taxis. Celia lingered, killing some time, ensuring that Tom would have brought the girls home from school by the time she returned to the Plaza. The end of the lawsuit had lifted a weight off her. Cleared a large part of her mind of worry. She felt light. The planning committee’s development contract would take care of itself now, and so would the chemo treatments for that matter.

She took a walk, just a short one, and stopped at a coffee shop near City Hall to indulge and bleed off some anxiety. Enjoy the brief moment of respite in the day. She could stand on the street and watch people go by, and didn’t that sound lovely?

She was so rarely alone. At the Plaza she was surrounded by her West Corp employees or her family. She didn’t often go into the city unless it was to some event or to meet with officials, colleagues, friends. Tom or another driver ferried her back and forth. Arthur was almost always nearby. It wasn’t like the old days, when she lived alone and rode the bus alone and walked alone, and thereby inadvertently created opportunities for those who would harm her. Over the last twenty years, she’d insulated herself with layers of people who watched out for her, and she hadn’t meant to do it any more than she had meant to isolate herself during those rough years in her early twenties. It had been a consequence of the life she’d led. Now, the consequence of having a family, of having a stake in her company and her city, meant she was protected. She’d never looked at it that way before. Not until the protection was gone.

She was very occasionally alone when she stopped off for a cup of coffee or a sandwich between meetings, an echo of her early working days when she was just another woman on the street, one of thousands who would run into a café without thinking about it. She liked to think she wasn’t so much of the elite that she couldn’t buy her own damn coffee.

Fancy hipster coffee in hand, she emerged back on the street and didn’t think anything of it. She needed to call Arthur to let him know how the hearing had gone—he already knew, really, but she liked hearing his voice. She had a long list of items she’d been putting off without even meaning to: calls to Analise, to Mark. A talk with her mother, to tell her about the leukemia. The talk she’d promised Anna. Maybe she could even get rid of the scratchy wig and the pretense that she was well. The coffee didn’t taste like much since the treatments had affected her sense of taste. But the heat of it was comforting, and she sipped it gratefully.

She walked on to the corner, turned, and felt a sharp stab in her shoulder, like a narrowly focused punch. It seemed oddly familiar, and the wave of déjà vu that passed over her was so strong she paused, brow furrowed, trying to figure out the instinctive dread blooming in her gut even as her free hand pawed around to her back and met the cylinder of a syringe protruding from her suit jacket.

Just like the Destructor all those years ago when he’d kidnapped her and attempted to brainwash her for the sole purpose of striking at her parents. She felt the same astonishment, the same despair that she had somehow walked into a trap.

Suddenly, a man and a woman in dark suits, obvious bodyguard types, were at her sides, holding her arms, keeping her upright. One of them took the coffee cup and purse out of her hands before she dropped them.

“Ms. West, you seem unwell, let us help you,” the woman said very calmly. A nondescript black car was waiting at the curb, and the two impassive escorts guided her into the backseat. They wore dark sunglasses, and their expressionless faces made noting their features difficult. They might have been wearing masks.

They stared straight ahead, not at her, and when Celia thought to demand that they tell her who they were and what they thought they were doing, her tongue seemed to swell and fill her mouth. Her whole body had gone numb. Good thing she was sitting down, because the world was tilting sideways.

She had a weird, panicked thought about how the tranquilizer would interact with the cocktail of drugs already in her system. Had they just killed her without meaning to?

What are you going to do to me? She tried to speak but didn’t know if she actually said the words. The two kidnappers didn’t respond to her. Her whole face was feeling too big for her skin, and she was afraid she was drooling. Goddamn it, she could only think, over and over. And then, —Arthur, help—

He didn’t respond.

“Is she really the one? She doesn’t seem like much,” said the woman.

“She’s the one,” her partner answered.

The one what? Celia thought. Who am I? Filled with vague fear, she lost consciousness.