The light turned green, and she pulled into the underground garage. The valet area was crowded with vehicles, more than usual. Their drivers lingered near their cars, smoking and talking. She guessed people from other offices had arrived to attend the same meeting she was going to. An informational update meeting had appeared on the company schedule, and DeWinter was slated to speak. Sinclair was there—she knew he would be—but he gave her no more than a glance as she entered the elevator lobby.

She skipped going to her office, not wanting to get waylaid by anyone. Timing was an issue for what she wanted to do that day, and knowing where DeWinter was at all times was crucial. She strolled the corridor on her floor that led to the elevator. Moor’s lack of popularity allowed her to linger without being bothered. People ignored her, as she appeared to be intent on reading a document. She glanced at her watch. DeWinter was running late.

As she neared the elevator, he appeared at the end of the hall. She timed her approach and wandered toward the elevator. Keeping her head down, she bumped into DeWinter. Feigning surprise, she clutched at her papers, using his chest to keep them from falling.

“I’m so sorry!” she said, stepping back.

DeWinter twisted his face away from the fanning pages with an amused smile and lifted his hands to help her. “I didn’t think my white paper was that absorbing.”

Laura ducked her head. “I’ve been running late all day and wanted to finish it before your presentation.”

They stepped inside the elevator. “Well, you’re probably the only one. No one preps for these things as far as I can tell.”

She held her folder down out of DeWinter’s view. “It’s my nature.”

When the doors opened, DeWinter held them to let her exit first. “That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement of how compelling my writing is.”

She smiled back. “You’re compelling in other ways.”

Sinclair walked toward them from the opposite end of the corridor. He passed without making eye contact, brushing against Laura. She slipped him DeWinter’s keycard. Picking pockets was an old skill, made easier by the intimate relationship Moor had with DeWinter. He didn’t think twice about the contrived physical contact.

In the conference room, DeWinter continued to the front of the room while Laura sat near the rear. People ignored her—or at least pretended to. She sensed more than a little tension from several people who came near her. She didn’t know if Fallon Moor was liked, but she was clearly feared. She placed the folder on her lap. DeWinter opened his laptop, and a PowerPoint presentation flashed onto the room screen as the lights dimmed. He launched into the first set of bullets points. Laura checked her watch. By then Sinclair should have been a few floors away duplicating DeWinter’s ID card. She wasn’t sure how long it would take.

A chart flashed on the screen. “Year to date, 117 deaths are directly related to the fey,” DeWinter said. “With the terrorist attack at the National Archives, the total went to 144, and we’re not even close to the end of the calendar year. Of these cases, half remain under investigation and a third are tied up in jurisdictional issues regarding the citizenship of the fey perpetrators.”

Laura didn’t want to dismiss the numbers, but if someone divided murders by any one criterion—skin color, religion, geography, and, yes, species—the tallied number would look significant. Crime wasn’t a trait unique to the fey.

Another slide appeared, listing a series of federal statutes. “The fey, even those considered American citizens, enjoy unprecedented rights and privileges that no other social class enjoys. These rights, in turn, are directly related to undue influence of the fey monarchies in Ireland and Germany.”

Laura skimmed the list off her printout of the presentation. DeWinter’s argument sounded credible, but he was taking select issues out of context. The politics between the U.S. and the fey monarchies were more complicated than a few statutes that seemed to provide unfair advantages to the fey. It wasn’t that he—or Legacy—didn’t have a point. Laura wasn’t naïve. But the U.S., like any other government, balanced advantages against disadvantages. They wanted to have the fey as allies, both for commercial and military reasons. Sometimes that meant certain leniencies.

“The U.S. government has allowed itself to be seduced by the power of the beneficent fey and nostalgic notions of heroism and chivalry in old tales. These are lies that have no place in modern democracies. The root of the problem is the monarchy system, a dictatorship by another name. If we sever our ties to these monarchies, they will fail. Only when they fail can we hope to negotiate with them on a level playing field. These monarchies must end if humans are to have any chance at a safe future.”

Laura surveyed the room. The people in attendance were staffers, rank and file. They weren’t the people she was interested in—yet. Some of them might become radicalized, and that was exactly what meetings like this were for. DeWinter used them to garner support for Legacy’s goals. Those who believed they could be achieved through government became mouthpieces for Legacy. Those who believed in more violent means were shuttled into Legacy’s more covert operations. She had seen the evolution play out in a number of organizations that rallied around radical ideas.

Legacy wanted an end to the monarchies. Given what she had seen of its secret backers, it was about money and power. The more unstable the fey monarchies became, the more opportunities arose for others to take their place. The people in the room might think they were being patriots. Instead, they were becoming pawns to another power structure.

Time dragged as DeWinter droned on about legal initiatives Legacy was involved in. As planned, Laura’s cell phone rang. People shifted and heads turned, craning to see who had left a ringer on. Laura hopped up with the phone to her ear, taking her time to ensure that everyone knew it was her causing the interruption as she left the room. Once in the hall, she stayed near the conference room’s glass door, fully visible to DeWinter.

Sinclair arrived, but stayed out of view of the conference room. Laura held her hand against the doorjamb as if she were casually leaning on it. Unseen from inside the room, Sinclair slipped two keycards into her hand. He gave her a wink and walked off.

Still pretending to be on a cell call, Laura pushed open the door and resumed her seat. She slipped DeWinter’s keycard and a plain white duplicate into her folder. After a brief applause, the lights went up, and the room broke into conversation. As the attendees left, Laura lingered, again making sure to remain in DeWinter’s line of sight at all times. If he had noticed his card missing, she didn’t want him to think she had gone anywhere with it. When the room emptied, she joined him at the podium, where he packed his materials into folders.

“You were excellent,” she said.

He shrugged. “The facts speak for themselves.”

She reached out and tugged at his lapel, slipping the keycard back in the inside pocket without him noticing. “You really were good.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Careful. You might make me fall for you.”

“You might be worth catching.” She let her hand slide seductively down the lapel of his jacket, then left the room. He was good, she thought. Three layers of security good. She held the folder so that the duplicate keycard didn’t slip out.

She was better.