“They want to see that you’re taking this position seriously. Win at Netherfield Court and they’ll take the training wheels off, Dorsey, I’m sure of it. Why don’t you bring David?”

Dorsey considered it. It could be a double whammy. David worked for their New York office, and he was the son of Robert Bradley, a board member and one of his father’s oldest friends. It could work. People loved David. “I’ll ask him,” Dorsey agreed. “There is also some local discontent with the new buildings, and David may be a good person to smooth things out.”

“I heard about that. Are you going to address it?” Gigi asked.

Dorsey summoned his Tesla. “God, no. I’m going to beef up security.”

BABYLON

You’re live with Liza B., the only DJ who gives a jam. We have Tim from Anacostia on the line. What’s on your mind, Tim?” Liza cooed.

“Hey, Liza, tell me you’ve heard about this party at Netherfield Court. My sisters are acting like the Super Bowl is in town.”

“Oh, I heard about it all right. And I’m not mad at anybody trying to find love, but I agree that we have to look at the bigger picture here. They were foolish enough to give me a ticket, Tim, and you better believe I won’t be there kissing frogs! These guys won’t know what in the matcha-green-tea-latte hit ’em.”

“Changed your tune since last week, eh?”

Liza straightened her shoulders. “You can do a lot of damage from inside the machine, Tim.”

“Bob Marley said Babylon is everywhere.”

“And we can fight it from anywhere,” Liza finished. “Let me help set the mood. Download my playlist. I’m posting it . . . now. Feel my feels. Here’s the first song on there.”

Excitement pulsed through her. They would turn Booth G into a shrine when she was gone. She adjusted her headphones and spoke into the microphone.

“The time is now. I know you’ve heard of a flash mob. Everyone gets together and spontaneously dances. At this Netherfield pity party, get ready for a flash protest! Show up, grab a sign, and smile for the world!”

“Liza, will you be bailing people out of the jail they all gonna throw our asses in for trespassing on a private event?” This caller was a tad peevish.

“I wonder if MLK wondered who would bail him out as he wrote his letters in a Birmingham jail?” Liza countered.

“You ain’t no MLK, and I ain’t going to jail so you can go viral.”

“Yes, live comfortably, Caller Thirteen.” Liza hung up the phone. “Many are called for the revolution, but few are chosen, folks. Meet me. Dare greatly.” Liza had read this somewhere, and it seemed appropriate now.