“The paramedics are coming,” Sara Jane said from the hall, her footsteps coming closer. “Can I get—” She stopped behind Jonathan and put a hand to her mouth, staring down at Faris.

Trent stood, the syringe slipping from him to fall dramatically to the floor. “Oh, Sara Jane,” he said softly as he drew her back into the hallway. “I’m so sorry. Don’t look. It’s too late. I think it was a bee sting. Faris is allergic to bees. I tried to give him his antitoxin, but it didn’t act soon enough. He must have brought a bee in with him unaware. He slapped his leg just before he collapsed.”

“But he …” she stammered, glancing back once as Trent moved her away.

Jonathan crouched to pluck a tuft of fuzz from Faris’s right leg. The fluff went into a pocket. The tall man met my eyes, a wry, sarcastic look on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Trent said from the hall. “Jon?” he called, and Jonathan rose. “Please see that everyone leaves early. Clear the building.”

“Yes sir.”

“This is terrible, just awful,” Trent said, seeming to really mean it. “Go on home, Sara Jane. Try not to think about it.”

I heard her choke back a sob as her hesitant footsteps retreated.

It had only been moments since Faris had been standing. Shocked, I watched Trent step over Faris’s arm. Cool as broccoli, he went to his desk and pushed the intercom. “Quen? I’m sorry to disturb you, but will you please come up to my front office? There is a paramedic team on their way into the grounds, and after that, probably someone from the I.S.”

There was a slight hesitation, and Quen’s voice crackled from the speaker. “Mr. Kalamack? Yes. I’ll be right there.”

I stared at Faris, swollen and prostrate on the floor. “You killed him,” I accused. “God help me. You killed him. Right in your office. In front of everyone!”

“Jon,” Trent said softly, rummaging in apparent unconcern in a drawer. “See that his family gets the upgraded benefits package. I want his youngest daughter to be able to go to the school of her choice. Keep it anonymous. Make it a scholarship.”

“Yes, Sa’han.” His voice was casual, as if dead bodies were an everyday occurrence.

“That’s real generous of you, Trent,” I chittered. “She’d rather have her father, though.”

Trent looked at me. There was a bead of sweat at his hairline. “I want to meet with Faris’s assistant before the day is out,” he said lightly. “What was his name … Darby?”

“Darby Donnelley, Sa’han.”

Trent nodded, rubbing his forehead as if bothered. When his hand dropped, the sweat was gone. “Yes. That’s it. Donnelley. I don’t want this to put me behind schedule.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“The truth. Faris is allergic to bee stings. His entire staff knows it.”

Jonathan nudged Faris with a toe and left. His steps were loud now that there was no background noise. The floor had emptied shockingly fast. I wondered how often this happened.