She was seriously pissed. The last two days in California produced nothing; nothing but a complete waste of time. Jana hated wasting her time. She hit the remote when the garage came into view and eased up on the gas, just a little. Damn millionaires. With a screech, she parked her Bentley; hit the remote again and closed the door behind her. Stepping out, her heels clicked sharply on the hard high-polished floor as she hit the remote a final time and popped opened her trunk. Grabbing at her luggage, Jana looked up at the control center mounted on the wall. A green blinking light with the words, PERIMETER SECURE and underneath that ONE ensured her that her daughter hadn’t made it home early. “Damn millionaires.” She muttered, slamming the trunk lid shut behind her. Peter had called her just a few days ago and had asked her to step in for him. Peter Linn was the man in charge of the West Coast Division of the society. He was the one that generally dealt with the stuffy rich on the west coast, leaving Jana to head the East Coast Division.
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