The phone rang. Rosalie answered. "Yes, Miss Lilith? The Internal Revenue Service?" Rosalie said, fidgeting with the glossy fabric of her clown pants and eying Andie.

Andie's eyes opened wide. "What, the IRS is here already?"

"Yes, Miss Andie. Shall we send him away?"

"What? No. Let me talk to Lilith." Andie took the phone. "Please send the agent down."

"Do you not want him to get the usual ... treatment?" said Lilith.

Andie didn't like the way Lilith hesitated before saying the word "treatment." As if it were code for something terrible. "No, please see he arrives here untreated."

Lilith sighed. "As you wish."

A few minutes later, the receptionist arrived with a beanpole of a man. He took in the broken door, the broken wall, the odd-looking accounting staff. He zeroed his gaze on Andie and said, "Your tax return is actually making sense now."

This could not be good.

"Thank you, Lilith. I'll take it from here."

"I will return to accompany him out when you are finished with him," said Lilith, flashing her eyes and nodding her head, as if trying to impart an important meaning.

"Thanks. Please come into my office? Mr.—?"

"Will. Will Montgomery, Miss Bank." The auditor towered over Andie and coldly avoided her outstretched hand. His light brown hair was short and curly, and his green eyes exuded intelligence. He had three lines deeply etched on his forehead, lines that looked as if he'd endured years of taxpayer excuses. He wore a gray suit, a bit worn but neatly pressed.

"How do you know my name?"

"Read The Star Enquirer this morning."

"About me?" Uh-oh. She still hadn't told Sterling. What if she heard about Andie taking the job by reading the tabloid? She had to call Sterling ASAP. But first Andie had to handle Mr. Montgomery. It wouldn't be hard. She'd dealt with auditors many times and found them to be among the more reasonable of bureaucratic government zealots.

"Yes. I know all about you, Miss Bank."

How much did he know about her past? Her previous job, her old boss who stole from the company and tried to frame her for the crime? Even when she was proven innocent, the jerk tried to cast a shadow of doubt over the truth. Was Mr. Montgomery trying to throw Andie off her game? It would not work. Andie picked up her purse and briefcase from where she'd thrown them when she'd hit the floor earlier and opened the office door. "Ernest, could you please get me last month's financials? Also, I'd like to see the company manual and the list of personnel approved for expenditures by department."

"We are not sure what those are," said Ernest.

This was going to be a long day. Andie sighed. "Do your best." She ushered the auditor into her new office.

The room was shaped like a cube—no window, no office supplies, no trash bin, calculator, nor any pictures on the wall, which given the artwork in the rest of the building, was probably a good thing. The top of the desk was glass with a hulking, old computer. The guest chair had a worn grey corduroy seat. "Please sit." Andie gestured to the unfortunate chair. She lowered herself into a black leather swivel chair and opened the bottom drawer of a credenza next to the desk to store her shoulder bag and the camera. She'd have to get a lock installed. This place didn't seem at all safe.

"How can I help you?"

"Miss Bank, I'll get right to the point. We are preparing to file fraud charges against your company. This has gone on far too long, and we haven't received satisfactory answers to any of our questions. Your entire 1120 is a joke." He patted his leather audit bag.

Andie folded her hands and rested them on the cold glass desktop, trying to look patient and professional. "Mr. Montgomery. Today is my first day at The Star Enquirer. I haven't had a chance to review the accounting records, let alone the tax return that we submitted. May I see it?"

Mr. Montgomery snapped open the bag and pulled out a thin sheaf of papers. He laid it before Andie on her desk, pulled a tiny bottle of hand-sanitizer from his breast pocket, and rubbed a generous portion on his fingers.

Andie smoothed the wrinkled paper. Was that a mustard stain on the corner? The form had been completed with a lavender pen.

Line 1, Gross Receipts - "Gross? Only when I do not bathe."

Line 1.c. Balance, said: "Excellent."

Line 5 – Interest: "Food preparation, The Cooking Channel, Food Network, explosives."

Each of the line items was filled out in the same manner. This is insane.

"Miss Bank, are you all right?" asked Mr. Montgomery.

"Oh, sorry. Just thinking," Andie set down the return. "Anyway, I can see why you're concerned. I promise to sort this out. And I assure you I will provide the IRS with a revised, more, um, accurate return in a timely manner."

"There's more, Miss Bank," Mr. Montgomery said, taking the tax return delicately between thumb and forefinger and dropping it back into his bag. He removed a thick stack of paper, put it on the desk, and turned it toward Andie.

"What's this?"

"One of the previous agents assigned to this audit was investigating several suspect items in your accounts."

It thrilled Andie that the company had accounts.

"If you'll look here under "Transportation," you'll see listed "Gandulfian Access Tubes, shower caps, and Napa Valley Cabernet (Special Reserve at $175 per bottle)."

Andie exhaled. "I'm sure there's an explanation. In any event, I'll review the accounts and make sure everything is properly coded. Only legitimate tax deductions will be included in our return. Is that all?" Andie wanted to get him out of her office so she could start her investigation of all things strange about The Star Enquirer. This would probably take several decades.

"No. There's something else."

"Of course," Andie tried to say without sarcasm.

"I am personally curious as to why all the previous IRS agents assigned to your company have suffered from memory loss? While the records from their audits have remained intact, their brains have not."

"How many agents are we talking about?"

"I'm the fourth."

"That's strange." Beyond strange. People losing their minds because of The Star Enquirer? Okay, maybe not that strange.

"Indeed. And I am fond of my brain. I hope nothing happens to it. But as a precaution, if anything happens to me, a series of events will set into motion whereby charges of fraud will be levied against your company, and your officers will go to jail."

To jail? That would include Mr. Lieder. Oliver.

"Good day, Miss Bank." Mr. Montgomery slipped the trial balance back into his case and stood. Andie scooted around the desk and opened her office door. The accounting staff, except for Cash, sat at their desks trying to look busy, but Andie noticed them taking furtive looks at Mr. Montgomery. Cash was arranging his Star Wars action figures.

Lilith waited in the doorless entry to accompany Mr. Montgomery out of the building. Lilith's repeated mention of the auditor getting the same "treatment" as the others made Andie wonder if the treatment referred to some kind of mind wiping? "Lilith?"

"Yes"

"Make sure Mr. Montgomery leaves with everything he came with."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"You have two weeks," said Mr. Montgomery. "I want your tax return on my desk by then, or else, well, you know the consequences."

How would she get this accomplished? She'd have to work around the clock. Even then it would be impossible. But if she failed, Oliver would go to jail.

"Thank you for the extension."

"You know the IRS is reasonable, Miss Bank," Mr. Montgomery said in an unreasonable, threatening tone.

He left without waiting for a response.

"Ernest, have you been able to get the items I asked for?" Andie asked.

"No. I am sorry," said Ernest.

"Very well, I'll see what I can find in the computer in my office," said Andie. "What's the password?"

"Password?" said Ernest.

"Please tell me the company accounts are password protected."

Silence.

Andie sighed.

By lunchtime, Andie had been so engrossed in her work, she realized she still hadn't called Sterling. But now her head throbbed. She'd call as soon as the headache dissipated. Andie ground her fingertips into her temples.

The first thing she had done, clucking like a disappointed hen the whole time, was set up password protection for the accounts. Then she performed a fairly detailed overview of the Accounting Department systems. What a disaster. Accounts Payable had a two-month backlog. There was no Accounts Receivable aging report. The books had not had an official closing in three months. There was no manual outlining signature and approval requirements. The cash reserves were in non-interest-bearing accounts. It would take months to get the place in shape. The weirdest account titled Wormhole Technology,had a huge monthly outflow. Most of these expenses were charged to the 'Magnificent Department.' A check of the office roster showed no such department.

But no weirder than ...

A seven-foot tall accounting staff in neon clown suits

Weapons disguised as cameras

People randomly appearing and disappearing

People stopping cars with one hand and pulling doors off of hinges ...

Rosalie poked her head into Andie's office. "We are going to lunch."

"Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Oh, Rosalie?"

"Yes, Miss Andie." She stepped into the room.

"Call me Andie. Can you tell me about Wormhole Technology?"

"No," Rosalie said, looking everywhere but at Andie. "Now I must go to lunch. You should eat too." Rosalie touched Andie's head. "A cheeseburger, I think."

Wow, that sounded great. "Have a pleasant lunch."

Rosalie exited through the extra-high office door. The rest of the staff had already gone. An uneasy quiet spread over the Accounting Department. It was time to make a list of questions:

1. What are Gandulfian Access Tubes?

2. Why does a tabloid need shower caps? Please don't let this be for something kinky.

3. Cameras as laser weapons. Why?

4. People seeming to disappear and reappear, unimaginable acts of strength. Definitely not normal. Okay, not a question.

5. Why do so many people who work at The Star Enquirer look like supermodels? Does this sound petty and jealous? Perhaps reword

6. Why is the company spending so much money on red wine? Unbelievable.

7. What is behind the secret door? Secrets suck. And this one ranks up there with secret handshakes, clandestine cultish rituals, and all magic tricks.

8. Why are the company's substantial investments held in non-interest-bearing bank accounts? Yay. This is one problem I can fix easily.

How about #9: Why does Oliver have to be engaged to vile Talia? added Bad Andie.

The list is merely a start. Once I gain the trust of the staff ...

We will pump them mercilessly for information, said Bad Andie.

Excuse me?

Or maybe ask real nice and hope for answers.

Better.

Andie quickly created an investment proposal for the company's assets held in non-interest-bearing accounts. She calculated that they could increase net income substantially by doing so. She sent the document to Oliver's email, then closed the computer applications. The screensaver, like the strange paintings in the offices of The Star Enquirer, depicted dripping red currents of primordial sludge. Andie frowned. In a few keystrokes, she located a serene image of one of her favorite trees and updated the screensaver.

The phone rang. Maybe it was Oliver. "Hello?"

"Andie, what the hell?" Sterling snapped.

"Uh."

"You're working at the goddamned Star Enquirer? And you didn't think maybe you should mention this to me?"

"Calm down, Sterling—"

"Don't you try to be all Miss Reasonable with me. I can't believe this. Do you know I got fired from the Last Story franchise? They hired a younger actress—Gigi Gaines. She's twenty-two. That's why Bernie was calling me the other day. Because I am suddenly too old. And there were lions in the script. You know how much I love lions! That tabloid has cost me my career."

The phone was sweaty under Andie's chin. "Sterling, I'm so—"

"Please explain to me why you're working for, well, basically the devil?"

"Actually, it was your idea, Ster."

"I don't think so," Sterling spat.

"Remember that ad in The Star Enquirer for a controller?" Andie switched the sweaty phone to the other side.

"Yes," Sterling hissed this time.

"I called, and it turned out this was the job. But it's going to be great."

"Great for who?"

"For you. I made a deal. I work for them; they leave you alone. They've promised only to write positive things about you from now on. So maybe you'll get the role back. But ..."

"But what?"

"Well, this place is hard to figure out. There are a lot of strange people here, and the IRS is breathing down my neck."

"So let me understand, because I am shocked. The people working at The Star Enquirer are strange? And this surprises you why?"

"Come on, Sterling."

"Why don't you leave the dark side and quit?"

"Did you just make a Star Wars reference?"

"Shut up."

"No." Quit? She still needed answers. And besides, working here was the best way to keep Sterling safe. And now that Andie knew these "people" were armed, Sterling might be in even more danger. Maybe she needed to know they had lethal ray guns disguised as cameras.

"Look, I can't quit right now. But you should know something."

"What?"

"These people have cameras."

"Paparazzi with cameras? Shocking."

"These cameras are dangerous, Ster. They're really—"

A vibration began near her right temple and spread outward through her skull. Her throat swelled. She couldn't speak.

"Andie, why are you giving me the silent treatment," said Sterling. "Come on. I forgive you for working with those assholes."

Andie tried to squeeze a sound out of her throat, but it only closed up more. She hyperventilated.

"Please, Andie. Talk to me."

Andie dropped the phone. Her brain throbbed against her skull. She clutched her throat and gasped for air. Then she slumped off of the chair and collapsed to the floor. The world went black.