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raw materials, will be delivered no more than two weeks later.”
    Lavaraud scoured the document as he dropped into his seat.
    For the first time since the earpiece had been implanted, Goodwin savored a moment of silence as the Board awaited the Premier’s response.
    â€œTwenty percent,” Lavaraud uttered through clenched teeth.
    Goodwin furrowed his heavy white brows.
    â€œAnd because of your failure,” Lavaraud added, “I must delay Trelaine’s exit from the Quorum.”
    â€œBut Your Excellency, I—”
    â€œLet him speak, James.”
    â€œUntil I see this payment in full, how can there be trust? The Foundry must prove its dedication to our alliance before I can make such a bold declaration and abandon my comrades.”
    â€œLet him have this small victory.”
    â€œBut ensure that he doesn’t jeopardize our deal in the interim.”
    â€œI understand your concerns,” Goodwin said. “The Foundry, of course, will need your assurance that Trelaine will remain neutral and make no further commitments to the Quorum.”
    Lavaraud gave a slight nod. “For the time being.”
    â€œAccept.”
    â€œThen it is done.” Goodwin returned the document to his breast pocket. “Our team will revise the amendment as discussed and return it for your signature within the hour. I assure you. There will be nothing else…unpredictable.”
    Goodwin chuckled, but the Premier was not amused. He pushed a button on his desk, and a security escort appeared.
    â€œMy profound thanks for your understanding, Your Excellency,” Goodwin said with a hand pressed over his heart, “and again my most humble apologies.”
    He bowed to Lavaraud and followed the escort out of the room, maintaining his expression of heartfelt repentance until his back was to the Premier.
    â€œWe approve.”
    â€œAn acceptable performance.”
    Never had Goodwin groveled so. He was a worn-out old lion, tormented and tamed, forced to perform tricks for invisible ringmasters. It sickened him to the core.
    He was escorted out the embassy’s front doors and into the sinking sauna of the day’s foul weather. His suit clung to him like a wet bandage as he was led down a hedge-lined walkway, through lofty wrought-iron gates, and off the premises.
    â€œWhere is my driver?” Goodwin muttered as the embassy doors clanged shut behind him.
    â€œTen minutes.”
    His lips curled in a knot—the insults were never ending.
    â€œA taxi then,” he muttered.
    Despite the humid drizzle, Goodwin straightened his lapels and held his head high as he marched down the sidewalk. The florid stonework walls of the embassy, weatherworn and spattered in years of pigeon filth, were an eyesore. They diminished the swooping grace of Albright City’s iconic bronze streetlights. Goodwin’s resentment grew with every step.
    A convoy of black Autos approached with predatory speed. Three vehicles squealed to a stop by the curb while another two hurtled into position, cutting off any retreat.
    â€œWhat is this?” he demanded.
    â€œBe patient, James. Your Auto is in transit.”
    A door flashed open. Agents in black suits and sunglasses emerged to scan the streets—not Watchmen.
    â€œWe have a problem,” Goodwin muttered.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œHere, Mr. Goodwin,” said an agent, opening the back door of one of the Autos. A group of familiar faces stared out at him.
    â€œJames. Report.”
    He ducked inside the Auto and settled onto its luxurious leather seat as the door slammed shut. Goodwin nodded pleasantly to the five scowling officials that surrounded him. The gentleman in the middle was remarkably handsome, tanned and fit, with meadow-green eyes and sculpted chestnut hair dusted with just enough gray to warrant the word “distinguished.” At the moment, his famous face was devoid of its trademark smile.
    â€œHello, Mr.