Maggie made her way to her private bathroom, where she changed out of her business suit and into more appropriate reporter’s attire, namely, khaki slacks, fur-lined boots, and a down jacket. Back in her office, she reached under her desk for her backpack, which she settled over the bulky down jacket. She let loose with a mighty sigh. Now she felt like what she was, a bona fide reporter.

The last thing she did before she left the office was to tell her secretary to hold the fort and to call only in an emergency. She called Ted from the elevator, surprised that her BlackBerry actually worked inside it, and issued instructions like a general. “You can be there in an hour and a half. Hole up somewhere until Charles’s people get there. Just trail along, and don’t take no for an answer. If his people squawk, call either Charles or me. You got all that, Ted?”

Ted had plenty to say, mostly that it was snowing out and the roads were bad. And on and on he went. Maggie tuned him out and ended the call.

It was snowing hard, and there wasn’t a cab in sight when Maggie hit the street. Since Adel Newsom’s office was the closest to the Post, Maggie opted to jog the distance. It took her five minutes to realize just how out of shape she was. Sitting behind a desk didn’t qualify as any kind of exercise, despite all the time she spent bending her elbows eating whatever she could get her hands on.

Maggie was winded when she stomped her way to a glossy-looking building that looked like it was made entirely out of black glass. She shoved back the hood of her down jacket and swept through the revolving door. She marched over to the information desk and asked for a visitor’s pass. She showed her Post credentials and filled out a form, noting that she was going to Adel Newsom’s office. Pretty classy digs and pricey at that for a one-lawyer office, Maggie thought as she rode the elevator up to the seventeenth floor.

Two dentists and an architect had suites on the same floor that held Newsom’s office. She made a mental note to find out who owned the building when she went back to the office. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if Baron Bell owned it. Now, she wondered, where did that thought come from? From my reporter’s instincts, she told herself as she pushed open the plate-glass door and entered a very pleasant waiting room that smelled like freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon.