Once we reached the third floor, there was less in the way of civilian-facing offices, and there were more people in suits and business clothes. The glass wall had letters applied to it. Just ‘303—LEGAL’.

My mom had had a study back at our house, with the hundred or so legal tomes with all of the case history, precedent, and whatever else, on top of the books we’d fashioned ourselves, binding in a variety of ways, saving team stuff, parahuman case files we’d printed off the net, and more.

This was that, it was the same kind of heavy oak desks that my mom had had in her study, the shelves, the desk lamps and the scattered paperwork that had yet to be gathered together and bound. It was files and filing cabinets, a storm of legality as if a giant had sneezed in a legal office.

My mom might have been one of the older people around. A lot of the lawyers looked young, and at two in the afternoon, jackets were off and slung on the backs of chairs, sleeves were rolled up and perfect hairstyles were just a little bit messed up. She was doing a lot of the talking, taking charge and getting people organized.

A young lady approached us at the doorway. “If you’re wanting to lay charges against the Wardens, or if you have witness testimony to give, you’ll want to go to Casework on the second floor. I know it’s confusing.”

“My mom is Carol Dallon, I’m just stopping in to ask a question. The people at check-in said it was okay.”

“Oh wow, yeah, look at you. I definitely see the resemblance. Your mom is awesome, you know.”

“I know,” I said, my eyebrows going up momentarily.

The lady stepped away to fetch my mom.

The feeling of trepidation got worse as I watched my mom walk toward me. It was hard to divorce this scene and image with my memory of being on the street outside my mom’s house, the hurt and the feelings there.

My mom smiled, acknowledging the other three. “Victoria. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I had a conversation with Dad last night. He suggested that you might be the person to ask for this thing these guys are doing.”

“Ah,” my mom said. She barely seemed fazed by that. “Just business?”

“More or less,” I said.

Man, I was still so pissed at her. I was more pissed somehow that she was being nice and casual.

“I’m happy to help however you need it,” she said. “The only issue is I can’t step away right this minute. We’re waiting on a phone call from some people in the would-be government, and my coworker is away on a late lunch.”