“Relax, you’re going to be great.” Turner squeezed Bridget’s hand.

She was so nervous her neck was sweaty, and her blouse was sticking to her back. “I need to change clothes. I’m covered in sweat.”

“There is no time.”

“I know.”

He glanced behind her at what was definitely a big wet stain on the silk. She was an idiot for choosing this outfit, thinking only about how good she looked in it instead of practical things like absorbent fabric in a dark color.

“You should put the jacket on.”

“Then I’ll be even hotter.”

“It’s not hot in here, and the jacket will cover the wet spots. Just knowing that will help you relax, and you’ll stop sweating.”

“Can you grab it for me? I left it over there.” She pointed at the chair she’d left it on.

Everything she was wearing was new. The black skirt suit, the white silk blouse, the black pumps. With her dark red hair, which she had decided at the last moment to leave unbound, Bridget didn’t need more color on her to distract people from paying attention to her presentation. She would look professional in the pencil skirt and tight fitting jacket, with only the collar of her white blouse peeking out. She was going to sweat even more, but at least no one would notice.

Crap, she’d forgotten about the cameras. Her speech was going to be broadcast live at the Alaskan and Scottish keeps. The strong lights directed at her would make her even hotter. Not the mention the worst part—the close-ups. Everyone would be able to see the perspiration gathering on her temples and her upper lip.

Turner came back with her jacket and helped her put it on. “Take a deep breath.” He massaged her shoulders. “Another one,” he said. “Pretend that your audience is comprised of children. Speak slowly, enunciate, and pause between segments. You want to give them time to process. Don’t forget that you’ve been living and breathing the subjects for weeks, and what is by now self-explanatory to you, might baffle your audience.”

As his hands kept massaging, Turner’s calm voice did to her nerves what his hands did to her shoulders—eased the tension.

“And remember,” he continued. “Everyone likes you and respects you. This is your family, not a bunch of strangers.” He gave her shoulders one last squeeze before giving her a push toward the stage.

Victor had made the same comments before, which resulted in a major rewrite of her presentation. Before, it had sounded like an elegant speech prepared for a doctors’ convention. The new version reflected the way Bridget talked to her friends. Simple, direct, and without a lot of fluff.

Plastering a smile on her face, Bridget walked up to the podium with her head held high and her back straight.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m honored to have the privilege of speaking in front of the big assembly. Thank you for coming.” Bridget took a deep breath and plunged into the presentation she had practically memorized.

“Human trafficking is a more palatable way of referring to sex slavery. But I prefer to call it as it is. Most of the victims are young women and girls. In Third World countries, twelve-year-old girls and younger are sold into prostitution. Countless lives are ruined, and no one is doing anything about it. It goes unchecked, unpunished, and is rarely talked about or reported in major media outlets. Instead of a public outcry, there is silence. It’s an ugly subject no one wants to touch.”

There were three large screens on the stage. On the one to her left, Bridget could see the Scottish assembly with Sari sitting in the first row. On the one to her right, she could see Annani and her much smaller group.

The screen right behind her was dedicated to the presentation. Visuals were often more powerful than the spoken word. Bridget had prepared a number of charts, pictures, and several short video clips.

“Let’s start with some numbers.” She clicked on her remote, and the first chart appeared on the big screen for everyone to see. The next several minutes were dedicated to showing the extent of the worldwide phenomenon.

Her audience reacted as she’d expected—murmurs of surprise and outrage, tight lips and heads shaking, and even a few gasps. When she moved to the personal stories segment, there were also tears.

Bridget had debated long and hard whether to include them or not. On the one hand, she wanted to stay away from the dramatic, which might have been perceived as manipulative, but on the other hand, people needed to internalize the personal tragedy and the devastation, which could not have been achieved by talking about the problem at large.

The third segment, which she’d named ‘hope’, was dedicated to what could be done. Her audience looked excited, the sad expressions replaced by determined ones.

So far so good.

The big question was how they were going to react to the fourth segment that talked about the financial burden.

“Our long-term goal is, and always has been, to help humanity evolve by encouraging education and innovation and pushing the ideas of freedom and equal opportunity to all. We are making good progress, but we are decades if not centuries away from achieving that goal. In the meantime, we cannot watch the suffering without doing something about it. I know it’s a deviation from the way we’ve done things since Annani set us upon this journey, and I know tremendous resources are needed to make even a small dent in this problem. I know we cannot do this alone. However, I believe that if we give this boulder its first push, the momentum will carry it the rest of the way.”

Bridget glanced to her right, searching Annani’s face for her reaction. Earlier, Kian had emailed the goddess the revised budget and the much less ambitious plan they’d devised as per her instructions. Hopefully, it was enough.

When Annani finally nodded, Bridget felt faint with relief. Half the battle was already won. From now on it was going to be easy.

Joining her on the stage, Kian raised his hand to quiet the murmurs. “It’s time to vote. All those in favor, please rise and raise your hands.”

The first to stand were the council members and acting Guardians of both keeps, followed by about one-third of the audience.

That wasn’t good enough. They needed a unanimous vote, and there was only one way it was going to happen.

Everyone’s eyes turned to Annani.

With a smile, the goddess rose to her feet, but instead of raising her hand, she started clapping.

A moment later, all three assembly halls were roaring with claps, and every clan member who was old enough to vote was standing.

Mission accomplished.

Almost.

Bridget saved the call to the Guardians for last. The success, or conversely failure, of this part was almost as pivotal to the plan as the financial one.