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Curto?”
    “Some toady from Human Resources.”
    “Anji, we’re still in negotiations with the network, and I wasn’t told that any decision had been made. The ball was still in Kahn’s court.”
    “Josephine just told me that my agent knew about this, Melanie. I just signed papers!”
    “Well, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about, and what do you mean you just signed papers? Why would you sign papers?” Melanie’s voice became muted. “Jase, check the fax machine.”
    Anderson started crying again. She hit the dashboard—angry with herself for being so emotional. “Damnit, Melanie. Why didn’t I see this coming? Who the hell did the network get to replace me?”
    “Don’t beat yourself up. We’ll see if we can get you something on the E! Channel or—“
    “No! Stop. I’ve been trying for six years to get on a serious news desk. I can’t afford to do any more fluff pieces. I’m a journalist, not a damned fashion model.”
    There was silence on the other end.
    “Hello?”
    “I’m still here. Anji, you don’t have the right pedigree for it. You haven’t been a journalist, honey. Not really. And you weren’t talking serious journalism when we got you onto the San Francisco affiliate.”
    “I’m realizing—“
    “You’re realizing you’re past thirty and fluff reporting is for twenty-four-year-old news models.”
    “Exactly.”
    “That’s a problem.”
    “No, it’s a challenge.”
    “Anji, what you’re talking about is starting back at square one and reinventing yourself. No, actually you’re starting at square negative one because you’re already known as a fashion and lifestyles reporter—meaning you have all the journalistic heft of a British tabloid. It’s going to be a stretch, and at my age, I don’t stretch.”
    Anderson searched for words. This was unraveling fast.
    “Honey, you’re too old to intern as a serious journalist. Unless you’re a proven hard news reporter at thirty, you’re not going to be a hard news reporter.”
    Anderson bit her lip gently. Performed in front of the right man, that used to solve a lot of problems. She realized that Christiane Amanpour probably didn’t bite her lip.
    “Unfortunately, major networks are consolidating news production in Atlanta, and laying off in most markets. I could try to get you a spot on a cosmetics infomercial casting in L.A.”
    Tears flowed down Anderson’s cheeks.

Chapter 7:// Daemon
    Yahoo.com/news
    E- Murder @Video Game Company—Thousand Oaks, California: A booby trap sprung via the Internet claimed the life of a CyberStorm Entertainment employee Thursday. An off-site death earlier in the day is also under investigation as a related homicide. Programmer Chopra Singh —project lead on the bestselling MMORPG game The Gate was electrocuted in company offices. Lead detective Peter Sebeck of the Ventura County Sheriff’s Major Crimes Unit confirmed the killings were carried out via the Internet.
    S ebeck was already staring at the ceiling when his alarm clock sounded. He switched it off by touch and kept staring at the ceiling. He’d gotten in late last night. Even so, he hadn’t slept. He kept turning the case over in his mind. That’s what he’d taken to calling it: The Case.
    The FBI had taken over. They were forming a temporary task force with local law enforcement, but the Feds were in charge. Agents were photocopying files and interrogating suspects when Sebeck left at two A.M. Decker was some sort of workaholic.
    Sebeck explored his sense of loss. The Case no longer belonged to him. Why did it bother him so much? He was afraid he knew the answer: he felt truly alive only when something horrible was happening. That was the dirty secret behind every promotion he had ever received.
    He’d miscast himself in the role of authority figure. A decision made one afternoon fifteen years ago. He had had to grow up fast, back then—after the baby—but he sometimes wondered if he wasn’t just