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    Michael Baker received the call from dispatch about one of the rich old residents of the De Gray Estates falling near the entrance. He’d been a police officer long enough to realize that this was more a case of babysitting and paperwork than anything else. Sure, the dispatcher had said that the fall was apparently caused by ice, but it seemed unlikely that the woman had much of a case for pressing charges, as she’d fallen on her own property. The dispatcher noted that the caller had mentioned not seeing a guard on duty at the time of the call, which was unusual. They kept two guards on duty at all times, so that the gate was never without someone to attend it.
    With a sigh, he pulled the car into the driveway of the De Gray Estates, commonly referred to as Rich Person Central by most of the residents of Pleasanton. He spotted old lady VanderPoole seated in the back seat of the rented limo with the door open, the driver waving a fan. The old woman’s face was pale, but there was no indication of any injury. He was expecting something that looked more like a concussion, or perhaps some cuts or bruises caused by the fall. Frowning, Baker walked to the limo.
    The driver saw him and stood up, coming to meet Baker. “Thanks for coming, Officer. I’m not sure what caused it, but I do know she hit the ground pretty hard.”
    Baker looked over and saw the shards of ice. “That’s where she slipped?”
    The driver nodded. “She was waiting for a guard to let her in, but nobody did. She went to the window there at the Station, started screaming, and, as much as an eighty-year-old woman can, ran toward me. That’s when she hit the ice and fell. I think she may have fainted first, though, from the screaming, so that might have caused the fall as well.”
    Baker nodded, and glanced at the Guard Station. “I still don’t see a guard there.”
    Surprise covered Frank’s face. “That’s very strange. They’re incredibly insistent on having the ground level Station, at a minimum, covered at all times. When Mrs. VanderPoole needs an escort to her house after I drop her off, the guard in the Tower is the one who leaves. I’ve seen cases where the Tower guard will cover the Station so that guard can take a short break. With all of this noise and commotion, how could neither of them be there?”
    Baker nodded, puzzled as well. He glanced up at the Tower...and gasped. The glass side of the Tower displayed a massive hole, as if something had crashed into the structure. His eyes trailed back to the ice, realization dawning. “That’s not ice. That’s glass.” He pointed up at the Tower.
    Frank saw it as well, and raised a hand to his face. “Maybe something crashed into the Tower, and the guard down here went to investigate?”
    “If something like that happened, though, the Station guard would have called us or the Fire Department first. They’re pretty well required to ensure two people are on duty, and on watch, at all times. In a situation like that, the guard down on the street would call us first, and only then consider going to investigate. They’re simply not allowed to leave the Station unguarded, and only leave the Tower unguarded to cover the Station.”
    As the two men spoke, a car pulled up into the driveway. Will Stark emerged, briefly silhouetted against the backdrop of the great glowing Dome he’d built, dressed in a dark gray suit and blue tie, and wearing an overcoat. His wire-rimmed glasses fogged briefly after leaving the warmth of his car for the chill of the wintry air. He frowned on seeing the police car lights flashing, and the limousine off to the side, clearly recognizing that something was amiss. He spotted his old friend Michael Baker and walked to the police officer.
    “Hi Michael,” Stark said, shaking the officer’s hand. He inclined his head toward Myra VanderPoole, still pale in the back seat of her car. “Is Myra all right?”
    Typical, Baker thought. Will first asks