“This woman,” he said, and now the smoothness was cracking, the charm slipping, “this woman is clearly disturbed.

She’s making a scene.

Security, please, escort her out of here immediately.”

Two security guards started toward me through the crowd.

And Marcus Vance stepped smoothly into their path, and produced from his slim folder a set of legal documents, and pressed them firmly into the hands of the lead guard, and spoke in a voice as flat and hard as a closing door.

“Don’t touch her,” he said.