nor

cisely. The employee entrance to the hotel's underground garage

ask, dressed in an unremarkable pa

ver's seat, staring at the anonymous credit c

focus. I sent a quick text to Arl

oji. She was already inside, an

ankle still ached, but I'd cleverly wrapped a silk s

ollowed the hotel floor plan I had memorized, making my

e. Something that would draw every eye to

the control room, half-asleep in

credit card's first cash withdrawal. "I need to pop in there to grab something

money. He hesitated for a second, t

he room and locked

ve feed of the main ballroom stage. The officiant was spea

lent Dusty Stephenson, and beside him, the "bride" in

man, whoever she was, was a victim in th

he control console. A large red button la

a frantic drum against my

e officiant motioning fo

ed the microphone, and spoke in the clearest,

oughout the ballroom. Every guest froze, their hea

ewildered. Dusty Stephenson yelled impatie

dies and gentlemen, I apologize for interrupting this grand celebration. But the

hrough the crowd, followed by an explosion of frantic murmurs.

d Sharon, sitting in the front row.

t among the guests. "She's telling the truth!" she

e descended into chaos. Reporters, smelling bl

Stephenson, pointing a tremb

tive was

oor, and slipped out while every securit

. I headed for the service sta

time for m

le throbbed, bu

shouting and scre

he collar of my suit, and bega