Chapter 3My intercom buzzed. “Yes?”
“Mr. Vincent is on line one,” my secretary said
“Thank you, Ms. DiNois.” I picked up the phone and hit 1. “Yes, sir?”
“I seem to remember you had a George Washington U sweatshirt.”
“Yes, sir.” It was buried in the back of the closet; the last time I’d worn it had been last year, when I’d tailed Diane Coyne throughout the Union Station Mall. She’d been an intern on Senator Franklin’s staff, dating the wrong person. Darin Curtin was the second person I’d cancelled under Mr. Vincent’s orders. Oh, I hadn’t shot him, as I had the geek who screwed with Huntingdon’s computer programs, but I’d handed Curtin the doctored inhaler, and that had killed him just as dead.
“Good. Shut down for the day. You’re going to a lecture at Lisner Auditorium—make sure you l
