Catherine pushed through the heavy glass doors and entered the lobby. Even though she was a senior manager there was no doorman for her, nor waiver from the rigors of security.
She had her ID checked. She was frisked, wanded, poked, and waved through a bank of metal detectors, full-court-press body scanners, white-powdery-envelope detectors, and several other machines that must be checking for substances so deadly the firm didn’t dare say what they were checking her for.
Catherine was not annoyed by this process, but pleased. It was a great honor to be thought capable of poisoning, or bombing, or gunning down large numbers of people. That, she considered, would be real power. She had, however, no intention of doing these things; that wasn’t her style. But her “try to get to sleep” fantasies each night did include a wide variety of poisonings, and bombings, and white powder, and gunnings down.
Memorable Fancies 
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