The next day, Dennis wore his TruBind badge and drove into the QMA parking lot.

The building was actually quite nice, nothing like TruBind, Inc. Of course, he had seen it before. He had never been inside until today.

The inside wasn't so exciting. It was, of course, a much more normal-looking business than the one that employed him. There was a secretary sitting behind a desk, and a silver-lettered QUINN MEDICAL ACCESSORIES title stuck behind her on the wall.

The secretary looked up. "Can I help you?"

Dennis started stuttering. What could he say? I'm with TruBind. Umm, yeah, so let me in.

"Sir?"

"Yes, yes..I'm ..Dennis Ender. I'm with TruBind." He couldn't get much further. That was all he had.

The woman looked confused — then caught a glance of his identification. "Ah — yes, Mr. Ender. Are you here for anyone in particular?"

Dennis was surprised he got this far. He snapped out of a stare.

"I need to.. consult with some of the illustrators."

"Of course. Who should I notify that you're here?"

Dennis bit his lip. Keep cool.

He realized he was carrying his briefcase, and had a moment of speechcraft brilliance. "Certainly. In fact, I —" he dropped his briefcase, deliberately making all of his files spill all over (they were, of course, mostly computer printouts).

"Damn. Give me a second here. I need to talk about the new illu..." he cut himself off, trying to sort through his papers.

"Yes. Just give me a minute. Dr. ..."

More messing with his papers. Several people came up behind him. He took his time.

One black-suited man stepped over Dennis and approached the secretary.

She looked hurried. "Uh, yes, how can I help you?"

"I need to see Oxfeld right now. Top floor..."

The secretary looked at the man's badge and let him through.

Dennis looked up. "Just a minute here, Dr….uh, Dr. Oxfeld is waiting. The new illustrations — give me a second..."

The secretary grit her teeth. "Just go ahead, Mr. Ender."

Dennis held his briefcase with a sheaf of papers and nodded in thanks.

Did that guy say top floor? Dr. Oxfeld? Could that be the works?

Dennis walked quickly to the elevators, following the man in black, trying to be subtle. The man ducked into an elevator. The door started to close...

Dennis slammed his briefcase into the elevator's doors. The man pressed the open door button.

"Going up, I assume?" the man removed a set of keys from his pocket.

Keys required. Well, Dennis was on a roll. "Let me key in." he said, rummaging through his pockets. The briefcase dropped again. He saw the man, a gray-haired executive. The man looked back at him. Immediately, Dennis thrust his arm across his chest, mocking a second search for keys, conveniently obstructing some — but not all — of his badge. The TruBind and QMA badges were somewhat similar.

Dennis shook keys around for a while.

"I've got it, I've got it…" The man seemed to forget any suspicion and stuck a key into a locked button: the top floor. Then he looked back again. "You ARE here to see Dr. ..."

Dennis cut him off. "Dr. Oxfeld, yes. And you are?" Dennis was having fun with this — and it was working. Not only did he tell off Pollack, but he was in the process of finagling his way to the top, locked establishment of QMA. He didn't know how he was going to manage walking around up there, however.

"Ronald Fetch. I haven't seen you here before — have we...

More luck. The elevator opened loudly. Fetch walked into the floor, which appeared to be a 3-way corridor. He turned right. Dennis stepped out and scurried away down the left corridor.

Whooo-hoo! Dennis smirked again. He'd got in. But where from here?

The left corridor led to a familiar concept: a big glass door with CLASS D PERSONNEL ONLY. He sighed. He had no key for this. Game over. All that Clouseau-like effort for nothing.

It seemed luck was still on his side, however. The door burst open; he rolled behind it. It was another man in a dark suit. He thrust the door wide, as if in a big hurry, then disappeared into the elevator.

Dennis was almost suspicious. This was getting too easy. But why was that man running?

Dennis stepped into the door. He walked down a corridor. There were many offices with mahogany doors. The corridor ended at a second glass door; this one was sealed shut with red printing, danger lights, and what seemed to be some kind of key device.

He stood up straight. Deadlocked.