The Master's Chair (The Chronicles of Terah) by Mackenzie Morgan Page A

child would make me ineligible for a partnership, which would give you a perfect opportunity to pick up a little extra cash by threatening to expose us.”
    Pallor stared at the man for a few moments before answering. Then, in a calm, quiet voice he said, “I find your suggestion insulting, to say the least. I have no reason to blackmail anyone. I don’t know whether you recognized my name or not, but I’m a well-known author and I make more money than I need already. I certainly don’t want any of yours.”
    Mrs. O’Reilly stood up and said, “I’m sure my husband didn’t mean to insult anyone. This has been worrying both of us for several years now, and we have found the only solution we feel is open to us, even though neither of us is very happy with it. We need a child, and if not yours, then we need to find someone else’s. But either way, we’ll just have to trust you not to divulge our secret. Now, if you two will excuse me, I’ve had about all of this conversation that I can stand. Have a good evening, Mr. Stewart, and please, help yourself to the refreshments.”
    After Mrs. O’Reilly went back inside the house, the two men sat silently for a few minutes, and then Pallor said, “I was serious when I said you had nothing to worry about as far as I’m concerned.”
    Mr. O’Reilly nodded stiffly. “Thank you.” Then he stood, too, and said, “Mr. Stewart, we’re running out of time. If we adopt your friend’s child, we’ll abide by the terms of the contract, even to the point of allowing you limited access to the boy, but I will insist on a confidentiality clause. We can’t take any chances on anyone, not even the child himself, finding out that he is not our child biologically. But whether we adopt the child you represent or another, we really do have to find a baby. How soon do you expect to know something?”
    “I hope that the mother will make her decision in about a month. I’ll let you know when she does.”
    ~ ~ ~ ~
    Wednesday afternoon, Pallor was on a flight from Memphis to Los Angeles. He had a window seat and gazed out as the plane began its descent. It looked like there was a gray dome sitting over the city. He hated the idea of sinking into that mess. He shook his head. Poor Earth. The humans were slowly ruining the whole planet. At least they wouldn’t be able to do that to Terah. The other races would never stand still for it.
    After he checked into his motel and ordered room service, he pulled out the final folder from his stack. The Livingstons. Phillip Livingston was forty-seven years old and worked as an engineer for the city. Amanda Livingston was twenty years younger than her husband and worked as a bank teller. Although he made pretty good money, and their combined income would be considered comfortable, they lived up to their income and had very little set aside for emergencies. They liked to socialize, especially on the weekends, and mainly in out-of-town places. No household employees were listed on the financial statement, so either they were paying someone under the table, or Mrs. Livingston took care of the house herself.
    Pallor pulled up in their driveway a few minutes before seven the next night. Their house was a white ranch with large doors and wide windows. A young woman in a white uniform opened the front door and led him through the house to the deck out back. Mr. and Mrs. Livingston were relaxing on lounge chairs sipping tall drinks with bits of fruit floating in them. The maid indicated the third lounge chair and asked Pallor if he’d like a drink. He said he was fine and sat down on the side of the chair, facing the Livingstons.
    “Nice night, isn’t it?” Mr. Livingston asked. “We like to relax for a bit before dinner. Helps the digestion.”
    Pallor nodded. “I won’t keep you long, but I would like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
    “Fire away,” Mr. Livingston answered.
    “First of all, why are you going through a private