Chapter 8: The Booking

The invitation reached Stroud Labs on Wednesday afternoon, by email, from a producer at Market Desk.

Closing Bell Live, Thursday at five. Dani Kehoe, the other side of Beacon. A chair, a microphone and ten minutes.

Glenn read it out loud and put his head down on the desk.

"It's a trap," he said into the wood.

"It is," Dani said.

"Tatum's name is in the booking request."

"I saw."

"Then why are you putting your coat on?"

"Because it's the same studio," Dani said. "The same chair. The same camera he used to say I never wrote a line."

She slid the keyboard out of the way.

"I've never held a microphone on live television in my whole life. Somebody just handed me one."

Nolan was leaning against the doorframe with a mug in his hand.

He had been there for the whole conversation, and he had not said a word.

"You're sure," he said.

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because if I'm afraid of it, it's still Preston's room." She looked up at him. "I'd like it to be mine."

He studied her for a long moment.

Then he set the mug down.

"I'm coming with you," he said. "I won't be in the chair or in the shot. I'll be where you can see me."

"That's against the rule."

"The rule is nothing between us but the desk." He nodded at it. "I'll stand next to the desk if you like."

She tried not to laugh, and failed.

The green room at Market Desk was beige and cold, with a bowl of apples nobody had touched.