The intercom buzzed.

After Crawford came in the other day and laid down his gauntlet of doom, I found myself a little apprehensive when it came to unscheduled visits to my office.

Currently, I was in the middle of trying to pull together every receipt I could find to help clear my name against Crawford’s bogus charges of fraud or embezzling or whatever he was implying.

A break might be just what I needed so I pressed the button. “Yes, Kay?”

“Um, you’re not going to believe this.” Her voice sounded shaky. “There are some people out here with cameras who want to talk to you. They say the first thing we need to do is have you sign a release so that they can film you for their TV show.”

A sense of dread crept up my throat. Surely, I was too small a target for one of those 60-minutes type shows no matter how powerful Crawford Banks was. No matter how badly he thought I’d screwed up. “You’re kidding me. What show?”

Nothing in the world could have prepared me for her answer.

“The Barnes Bunch.”

The Barnes Bunch . . . The Barnes Bunch . . . Why did this ring a bell?

I didn’t watch much television, and when I did it was generally sports, a nature show, or a history channel documentary.

Then it came to me. The Barnes Bunch was something of a reality show. The players, or Barnes family members, often graced the covers of magazines I’d seen in the checkout at the grocery store.

I’d never read anything about them beyond the headlines, but you’d have to be blind not to have seen their pictures splashed all over the tabloids. Most recently the dark-haired attractive sister had been in some sort of trouble but I couldn’t remember what.

Pressing the button I spoke into the intercom. “Tell them I will be with them in a minute and Kay, could you please come in here now?”

“Not a problem. Be right there.”

A second later, Kay opened the door a hair, squeezed through then closed it behind her. Her eyes were as big as saucers and her hands shook. “Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe Lucinda Barnes is standing in our reception area.”

I shook my head. “What is this show and what the heck is happening? Why are they here?”

“I asked, but they wouldn’t say.”

“Okay, but what is the show about?”

“They’re the most famous family in America. They’re the closest thing we have to royalty.”

This made me cringe. The notion that reality TV stars were the best we had to offer in America made me slightly nauseous.

“I mean, their daddy Ziggy Barnes was a big star. He got killed in a plane crash when the kids were little.”

I nodded, encouraging her to keep talking.

“Dynassy is an international model. All she has to do is post a video on YouTube and in seconds she’ll get a million views.”

“Is that right?”

Kay nodded. “The older brother is a basketball player.”

“Okay.”

Kay continued, “But he doesn’t like to be on the show that much. It’s really the twins who are the big stars.

“Ivy and Leo. She’s an incredible performer, and he’s the best musician. Everybody’s always talking about how he inherited Ziggy’s genius. And their mom, Lucinda—the one who’s outside this door—she’s their manager, the show is really based on her life with the kids.”

“So, what does this have to do with me? Why is she here?”

“I tried to find out but they wouldn’t tell me. They insisted she had to tell you herself. They’re not real happy we said no to the cameras.”

“But that’s ridiculous. I have no reason to be on a show when I have no idea what is going on, or who these people are, or what they want with me.”

Kay shrugged. “Fair enough. I don’t blame you.”

I’d stalled enough and now, as I headed for the door, I just wanted to find out what in the world this visit was about.

I opened the door and ushered Kay through it.

“Hello,” I said to the array of people standing around my office.

“Eduardo!” An attractive woman with short dark hair came towards me, arms outstretched as if she intended on hugging me.

I stepped back. “Yes?”

Noticing my reticence, she dropped her arms to her side. “I’m Lucinda Barnes, and we need to talk.”

“I’d be happy to speak with you,” I said politely, ignoring her entourage.

Holding open the door, I waved Ms. Barnes into my office and shut the door behind us.

She sat down in the same chair Crawford Banks occupied only a week before, and I tried to squash the sense of foreboding that washed over me.

The first thing she asked was, “Why did you say no to my cameras?”

I walked around the large mahogany desk, using it as a buffer between myself and this intrusive stranger, and I settled in my chair.

“I saw no reason to be filmed. Particularly when I have no idea what you are going to be filming.”

She nodded. “That’s fair.”

“So, what is this about?”

“It’s about your father.”

“You know Reverend Morley?”

“Not him. Your biological father.”

The collar around my neck seemed to be growing tighter.

“My biological father?”

“Yes. What did your mother tell you about him?”

My pulse quickened. “Nothing.”

“Well, I have reason to believe your father was my husband.”

“Your late husband?”

“Yes. I believe that you are the son of the great Ziggy Barnes.”