an empty desk in the alcove beyond the swinging gate that separated the
customers from the employees. Lemont Morganstaff usually sat there,
but like Emmeline MacCorkle, he too was still recovering from the
epidemic.
She dragged her foot so she wouldn't step out of her shoe again as she
made her way across the lobby to the decrepit, scarred desk in front of
the windows. Franklin had confided that MacCorkle had purchased all
the furniture thirdhand from a printer's shop. His thrifty nature had
obviously compelled him to overlook the ink stains blotting the wood
and the protruding splinters lying in wait for an uncautious finger.
It was sinful the way MacCorkle treated his employees. She knew for a
fact that he didn't pay any of his loyal staff a fair wage, because
poor Franklin lived a very modest life and could barely afford to keep
his mother in the medicinal tonic she seemed to thrive on.
She had a notion to go into MacCorkle's brand-spankingnew office, with
its shiny mahogany desk and matching file cabinets, and tell him what a
cheapskate he was in hopes of shaming him into doing something about
the deplorable conditions he forced his staff to endure, and she surely
would have done just that if it hadn't been for the possibility that
MacCorkle would think Franklin had put her up to it. The president
knew they were friends. No, she didn't dare say a word, and so she
settled on giving MacCorkle a look of pure disgust instead.
It was a wasted effort, he was looking the other way. She promptly
turned her back to him and pulled out the desk chair. Dropping her
things down on the seat, she genuflected in as ladylike a fashion as
she could and pushed her petticoats out of her way. She adjusted the
tongue of her shoe, slipped her foot back inside, and quickly retied
the stiff shoelace.
The chore completed, she tried to stand up but stepped on her skirt
instead and was jerked back to the floor, landing with a thud. Her
purse and gloves spilled into her lap as the chair she'd bumped went
flying backward on its rollers. It slammed into the wall, rolled back,
and struck her shoulder. Embarrassed by her awkwardness, she peered
over the top of the desk to see if anyone had noticed.
There were three customers left at the tellers' windows, all of them
gaping in her direction. Franklin had only just finished filing her
documents in the file cabinet behind him when she fell. He slammed the
file drawer closed and started toward her with a worried frown on his
face, but she smiled and waved him back. She was just about to tell
him she was quite all right when the front door burst open with a
bang.
The clock chimed three o'clock. Seven men stormed inside and fanned
out across the lobby. No one could mistake their intentions. Dark
