The Willard Read Free

one of the partners at Cameron, Hanson and Smith. That was one week ago and this afternoon she would meet with Lawrence Cameron IV and try and convince him that a small-firm lawyer from Dayton with fouryears of experience and only three court appearances to her credit would be the best possible new associate for their international firm. Word on the street was that nobody at the firm brought in less than $350,000 a year plus perks including international travel and a reported seven figure expense account for wining and dining billionaire investors.
    It’s not selling out. To have a big impact you have to play with the big boys and this is how they play
, she reassured herself.
    It was a lot to take in. For the past few days Catherine had tried on and rejected outfit after outfit and styled her hair up, down, straight, and “business wavy.” She’d polished her resume and practiced her answers to the most common interview questions including where she saw herself in five years and what “Who Packs Your Parachute?” means to the philosophy of business. She was as ready as she was going to get. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It read 12:02 p.m. The crack-of-dawn flight she’d taken had gotten her here with time to spare. Lunch was out of the question because her stomach was a ball of nerves. Maybe the concierge was onto something with his suggestion that she rest before her appointment.
Just a power nap
.
    After setting the alarm on the bedside table and two on her iPhone, she wanted one more backup so she called the desk and asked Edward Chase for a wake-up phone call at 12:45 p.m.
    “It will be my pleasure, Ms. Parker. Do enjoy your rest,” he said.
    I believe I will do just that, Mr. Chase
, she thought to herself. She took off her heels and suit, hung them on a hook in the bathroom, and wrapped herself in the luxurious hotel robe. She also unpacked the suit she had brought for the interview, still in its dry cleaning plastic. On the lapel she had pinned the one item she owned that wasn’t a knock-off or found in the clearance bin, though it was secondhand. Her grandmother’s diamond brooch sparkled against the dark blue of her best Ann Taylor suit (45% off last season). Even though the diamonds might be a littleflashy for daytime wear, it was very elegant and she felt like her grandmother was with her when she wore it. It was a one-of-a-kind piece her grandfather had had made for her grandmother when their oldest daughter had gotten married. Gramma Aida would know how to handle these bigwigs and Catherine was glad she had brought it. She pulled off the plastic protector and hung the suit in the closet. Then she slipped between the sumptuous sheets and, with one last glance at the Washington Monument through the window, she drifted off to sleep.
    She awoke suddenly at 12:43 before any alarms went off. Her room was hazy, like the afternoon sun was playing tricks with shadows, but it was barely after noon. She stood up and crossed the room trying to shake the sleep from her mind.
    Midday naps can really be disorienting
.
    She yawned and started toward the window but stopped in her tracks. She rubbed her eyes and was shocked that at second glance it still appeared the Washington Monument was gone. Well, not gone exactly but only the bottom portion was there. A good two-thirds of it was missing! What had happened over the past forty-one minutes? She hadn’t felt an earthquake. Then it hit her. It had to be terrorism. It was 9/11 all over again. Her heart caught in her throat and she pulled back the drapes to see what kind of panic must have ensued below, but what she saw was even more confusing. There was no panic, just the regular slow procession of traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue. Only these weren’t cars or SUVs. They were carriages and solitary horses with riders. And when she turned again to look at her room, Catherine knew something was very wrong. Her suitcase was gone and in its place was an