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coffee pot, and the cat, who could see through its closed eyelids, reared
     up and threatened me.
    “Are you kidding me, cat?”
    Just to make sure, I inched my hand toward the bowl again, and the cat showed me its
     teeth. Had it come to this? Feeding a cat on the kitchen countertop? I’d find Holder
     Darby today. To. Day. It might not be her cat, but she’d know whose it was or could
     at least resume custody of it.
    “You don’t mind if I get myself a cup of coffee, do you, cat? Is that okay with you?”
    It swished its tail.
    Bradley left a note at the coffee pot. Wife. I’ll be in, around, or about the vault most of the day. First, another inventory
     with the accountants. Baylor will be with me. I’ll be in the vault again this afternoon
     for an inspection with Paragon. I need you to check in on the conference this morning,
     make sure all is well, look into the Holder Darby business, and don’t forget dinner
     tonight.
    I’d like to forget dinner tonight.
      
    * * *
      
    The call came at seven seventeen. I was snapping on my watch.
    “Are you the new Holder?”
    No. “How can I help you?”
    “This is Megan with Special Events. I work the front desk at the conferences. I just
     checked everyone in for the welcome breakfast, and there might be something going
     on here.”
    “Such as?”
    “I think someone’s missing.”
    Someone is missing. Holder Darby. She should be taking this call. “Why do you think someone
     is missing?”
    “Because people are standing around waiting on one guy who’s not here.”
    “These people standing around,” I asked, “have they asked you about this missing person?”
    “No,” she said. “It’s just weird.”
    “Weird?”
    “Weird. I’ve been doing this for five years, and this is weird.”
    According to the conference schedule, it was Monday morning roll call at the conference,
     including a full-body scan (think airport screening booth) to gain admission to the
     welcome breakfast (Overdraft Omelet Station and Fiscal Responsibility Fruit Bar) deep
     in the top-secret banker chambers.
    And according to Megan, there was one lone badge left on the registration table. I
     could hardly see how it was weird or my problem.
    “I’m sure whoever it is stayed up all night gambling.” I slipped into my jacket. “He’s
     probably sleeping it off.”
    “I don’t know.” She hit four octaves on the three words. “I can hear them. They’re
     very upset this man isn’t here.”
    (And I’m supposed to get upset too?) (Is this what Holder Darby did all day?) “Has
     anyone called him?”
    “They say he’s not answering.”
    “Has anyone knocked on his door?” I stepped into my shoes.
    “They say he’s not answering.”
    “Who is they ?”
    “I don’t know their names. It’s the conference techs.”
    “Techs? What kind of techs?”
    “Slot techs.”
    “Our slot techs? Let me talk to one of them.”
    “They’re slot techs,” Megan said, “but not ours. These slot techs are with Paragon
     Protection.”
    Slot technicians installed and kept slot machines in working order. We have enough
     slot techs for a baseball team. Paragon Protection, not in the casino business, shouldn’t
     have even one. Why would Paragon Protection bring its own slot techs?
    “How many techs are there?”
    “Three,” Megan said. “And they’re mean.”
    “Why do three mean techs need one guest?” Maybe this is weird.
    “I really don’t know,” the girl said. “But I thought someone should.”
    “I’m on my way,” I said. “I’ll check on the guest.”
    She gave me the missing man’s room number, a big fat suite, then asked what she was
     supposed to do with his badge. I told her (I don’t care) to lock it up. Behind the
     scenes of the banking industry, much like behind the scenes of the casino industry,
     is shrouded in secrecy, including, it would seem, a convention. The bankers didn’t
     want would-be bank robbers sneaking in, drawing maps, jotting