“What is this?” Harrison’s voice came through the audio monitor, his microphone picking up his sudden intake of breath.

Dr. Marren lunged toward me, his hand reaching for my arm.

I grabbed the heavy metal tape dispenser from the desk and swung it.

It struck his wrist with a sharp crack.

He gasped, dropping the vial onto the hardwood floor.

The glass shattered, spilling a clear liquid.

“Grace!” I called out.

Grace stepped into the doorway behind Marren, holding her phone.

“The police are downstairs, Dr. Marren,” Grace said.

“I suggest you stay exactly where you are.”

Marren held his bruised wrist, his face turning pale.

I looked back at the monitor.

Harrison was staring at the screen behind him, his body stiff.

The crowd began to whisper, the sound rising like dry leaves in the wind.

Beatrice stood near the front row, her face frozen in a mask of anger.

“I need to go down there,” I said to Grace.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“I have been ready for a long time,” I said.

I picked up the spare wireless microphone from the audio console.