Chapter 21: Thursday

The Oregon Convention Center hall held four thousand seats, and by 9:50 on Thursday morning most of them were full.

I sat in row fourteen, on the aisle, with a laptop open on my knees.

A white screen the size of a house stretched across the stage.

AEGIS, it said, in letters a story tall. SAFER CITIES. SAFER HOSPITALS.

I looked at the second word until it blurred.

In the top corner of my laptop sat a small gray window.

It was a feed from the sound booth at the back of the hall.

Oz sat in it, in his misspelled vest, with a headset around his neck and a can of grape soda in front of him.

Beside him sat a heavy man with a Stanfield lanyard, one hand on the mixing desk and one eye on Oz.

Oz was whistling.

I could not hear him, but I could see his mouth doing it.

"He's fine," I whispered, to nobody.

My phone buzzed against my leg.

Yvette, from backstage: Families are in. Front row. Jonas is behind the left curtain with a stagehand's jacket. He says hello.

I looked at the front row.

Eleven people sat in it, in their good coats.

The old man in the Navy cap had his cane across his knees, and the gray-braided nurse had found a seat beside him.

Not one of them looked behind them.

They had been seated by a stage manager who thought they were Palmer's honored guests.

I felt my throat close.

At 10:00 exactly the lights fell.

A single spotlight cut a circle at the center of the stage.

Palmer Stanfield walked into it in his navy suit with his silver hair combed back.

He moved the way a man moves in a house he owns.

The applause was warm and long.

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