It had been three days since Lucien and Artemis had had their confrontation in Central Park, and, helpless, Lucien was in limbo. As he sat at his desk this particular morning, savoring the view of the East River which his latest promotion had afforded him, his coffee mug warmed his hands.

Sydney Chen, herself heading back to her desk with a cup of coffee from the machine down the hall, passed Lucien's office and glanced in. For some time now, Sydney had been concerned about Lucien. They'd never been close friends, but it was clear to her that something was bothering him -- though she had no idea of its seriousness. She padded gingerly into his office on the deep orange wall-to-wall carpet, uninvited, and leaned against a standard-office-issue walnut credenza sipping her coffee.

"So Lucien . . . what's up, guy?" "Oh, hi Sydney," Lucien responded absently. "Just working on Cummings," he volunteered, referring to the dreaded footwear account. "I think if I see another running shoe I'm going to scream." "I know what you mean," Sydney said, smiling. "Everything else okay?" "What do you mean," Lucien came back at her, eyeing her suspiciously, and overreacting. She couldn't know anything about Artemis, he told himself, correctly. "Oh, I just mean you seem preoccupied these days," Sydney explained. "I mean . . . well, I was a little worried about you." Lucien was taken aback at her concern, and alarmed that his unease over Artemis's blackmail had become that obvious.

Clouds in my coffee. Plotting a murder can be so ... time-consuming. And distracting! And all Lucien really wants is to get back to work, for god's sake! The irony is, he doesn't know it yet but he may be out of the woods. Stay tuned, dear reader.

"Thanks, Sydney," Lucien said uncomfortably. Then he added -- lying -- "I'm fine. Just overworked."

"Tell me about it," Sydney said. "Mr. Hillyer's still in London -- as you know. As everybody knows. What a mess."

NOW her job gets interesting. Sydney's been a glorified secretary up to now. But suddenly, with Jim Hillyer in trouble in London, Lucien acting like a zombie, and Bernadette racking up frequent flyer miles between New York and Montana ... Sydney's become the linchpin -- she feels like she's running the whole agency. And there's nothing she she likes as much as being the one in CONTROL ... if only temporarily.

She was referring to the fact that Meg Townsend's disappearance had been flashed across the media, from the National Enquirer to CNN. "And you're the one answering all the phone calls, right?" "You got it. Speaking of which, I better get back to my desk. Later." "See ya, Sydney," As she left his office, Lucien turned his eyes back to the computer monitor, trying to concentrate on Cummings footwear. But all he could think about was ...What was Artemis's next move going to be. And all he, Lucien, could do was wait for the other shoe to drop.

Hmmm, Lucien thought, that might do for a tagline for the latest Cummings running sneaker: The Other Shoe Has Dropped.

"I'm losing my mind," Lucien mumbled to himself, signing-on to check his e-mail for the sixth time that morning. "But damn, I'm good."

"It's true what they say, Agnes. Your whole life really does pass before your eyes. I swear it. A twister, can you imagine? All of a sudden I was in "The Wizard of Oz.""

Bernadette Da Capo had called Agnes Ramirez into her office and shut the door behind her. She was telling Agnes about what had happened at the airport in Utah, on her way back from Montana.

"I didn't even know they had tornadoes in Utah," Agnes said, hanging on Bernadette's every word, curling up on the sofa that faced Bernadette's imposing glass-topped desk.

"Well I'm here to tell you they do," Bernadette stated emphatically, compulsively straightening the folders on her desk, and sounding as though she'd come upon a meteorological discovery of tremendous importance.

To Bernadette, Agnes Ramirez was a mother-confessor figure, an older woman full of good advice and equipped with a sturdy shoulder to cry on. It was Agnes to whom Bernadette unfailingly turned in matters of office politics, personal crisis, and romance. Only this time, it was none of those things. It was money.

"Agnes, I need your help," Bernadette said, suddenly lowering the tone of her voice to a "this is really serious" level and reaching over to press the "Do Not Disturb" button on her phone, preventing it from ringing.

"What is it, honey?" Agnes said, sensing that a big favor was about to be asked of her and not a little worried about whether she'd be able to accommodate.

"Let me start from the beginning," Bernadette announced, standing up and walking over to sit in the side-chair that faced the sofa, the better to be close to Agnes.

Bernadette told her everything. About Hollis Burns. About the trips to Montana. About her having fallen madly in love. And most significantly at the moment, about Hollis having asked to borrow money. At which point Agnes visibly blanched.

"A hundred thousand dollars? A hundred thousand dollars? Bernadette, are you crazy?"

"Well yes, Agnes, actually I think I may very well be. But I've decided it's something I want to do."

"Honey, you don't loan a hundred thousand dollars to your mother, for God's sake!"

"You're right Agnes, of course," Bernadette said, sitting back in her chair and nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs. "But I'm going to do it." There was a pause. "If you'll help me?"

Agnes chuckled. "Bernie, I can maybe lend you a subway token to get home tonight, but I'm a little short this week."

"I'm serious, Agnes," Bernadette said, sitting forward on the edge of the chair and reaching over to grab one of the manila folders on her desk. She went on, as Agnes eyed the folder warily.

"I've been looking at the billings this year, and trying to figure out our bonuses."

"And?" asked Agnes, getting nervous about what Bernadette was going to suggest.

"And I want you to advance me my bonus. It's almost all I'll need."

Agnes knew that billings had been high that year, and that Bernadette would most likely get a bonus well in excess of $100,000. But it was strictly against agency policy to advance bonuses to a partner. In fact, it was expressly forbidden -- especially without the consent of the other managing partners.

"Bernadette," Agnes said, "what are you asking me to do?"

"Agnes," Bernadette answered solemnly, "I'm in love for perhaps the last time in my life. And I'm asking you to help me."