Wellesley, Massachusetts, Tuesday…

Frank Sweeney was not in a good mood. He had put through the call from his wife's Wellesley mansion, yet his team arrived too late at the Center. Stephanie really fucked this up royally. He wasn't quite sure what to do when the leader of his team reported in. Fulton probably suspected him now, since he had clones at the Center. If Fulton didn't, Pierce Hamilton certainly did. Sweeney was fairly sure that the National Security Advisor had ordered the raid on the Center. He gave crisp orders to the team leader and sat back in his overstuffed desk chair with a sigh. I might still be able to cover my ass.He went to the living room to find a drink.

His private study had a small bathroom attached. In it, Patricia Rivera was sitting on the toilet, trembling, still dressed in her chambermaid's uniform. When she realized that her boss had left the study, she quietly took a cell phone out of her apron pocket and dialed a Boston number.

Sweeney had just made himself a good, stiff bourbon when his wife walked in. Barbara Sweeney was loaded down with packages.

"Hello, Franky. I found a delightful new dress to wear to the Mason's party on Saturday."

Sweeney glared at her. Everything's crumbling around me and all you can think about is a damn party dress! "Let me see it, then," he said.