The Hero shrugged. “Yeah, probably. But the moment they start displaying any sort of power, you know they’ve done something bad to get it upgraded. It’s a better-safe-than-sorry kind of thing. Plus, nailing them gives you a few points. Grays, like Homie, are kind of a middle ground. Dealers can deal in perfectly legal stuff. Rogues too.”

“Oh,” Emily said. “Okay then.” She hoped that the worry in her voice wouldn’t register with Melanie, or if it did, that the older woman would assume maybe Emily was also in the gray area, and she was worried on account of that.

“So this place isn’t where we’ll find Homie, but it is where he launders some of his cash. At least, Handshake thinks so. We’re going to go in and ask some people some very pointed questions.”

Emily wanted to know more, but before she could begin to ask, Melanie moved forward and shoved her way into the office.

Emily and Teddy shared a quick look before following after her and setting off the bells above the door all over again.

The interior was pretty much like every other middle-grade office Emily had ever seen. A big desk at one end with a secretary behind it, some chairs, and a few small coffee tables near the entrance with stacks of Mask Weekly, Inanity Fair, and other magazines.

“You,” Melaton said as she pointed right at the person behind the desk. “Who’s the boss here?”

The young woman, about Emily’s age, give or take a year, stared back wide-eyed and took a moment to respond. “The . . . the boss? Mister Sachar?”

“Sure,” Melaton said. “Is he in?”

The secretary nodded furiously. “He’s in his office.”

“With anyone?” Melaton asked, and on getting a head shake in response she walked right past the desk and toward the back. “Cancel his meetings for the rest of the afternoon, then,” she said.

“Um, we’re all very, uh, sorry?” Emily said in a rush.

She had the choice between staying with the confused secretary and explaining things or continuing on with Melaton. She chose the latter.

The Hero moved on into the office proper and took one look at the few cubicles around the area before beelining toward a room at the back. Emily kept close, with her head down and her cheeks flaming. She hoped that none of the people working in their little boxes looked up.

The boss’s room was a tight space, not meant to have three people suddenly walk in on the middle-aged man sitting behind an old computer screen. Mister Sachar was a corpulent fellow, with more than one chin and a gut that showed even when sitting down. It bounced a bit when the man jumped to his feet. “What’s this?” he asked.