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stammered.
    “Suppose someone from Concordia University tells you that they are missing small quantities of ammonium nitrate and chlorine gas. Are you worried?”
    “I’m actually”—his voice cracked—“a forensic accountant.”
    “I didn’t ask what you are. I asked if you’re worried.”
    “It’s not my specialty, so—”
    “Are you worried?” the Professor bellowed.
    “I am now,” Walton said. No one was brave enough to laugh.
    “One minute with the Google you kids are always talking about will show you that you need to be worried about the creation of nitrogen trichloride, which will explode violently if heated to above sixty degrees Celsius.”
    The next three hours were more of the same. The Professor grilled his captives on the explosive properties of various chemical agents, the philosophical treatises underpinning the modern ecoterrorist movement, the historical and biological differences between the tangelo and the clementine, the emergenceof three-dimensional imaging in ballistic identification, and the fundamental failings of the legal profession. Each of these digressions was punctuated with periodic outbursts of anger and occasional, but mild, cursing. The Professor threw three more books, confiscated two Game Boys, called one agent fat, and finally drove the sleepy woman to tears.
    Most of the students sat in silent, abject horror. Dagny loved every moment of it.
    She did not love the trek to the medical center. Since Cooper’s ultimatum, she’d eaten less, not more. Maybe it was the stress of the situation. Maybe she thought it would be better to start at a lower weight, so that it would be easier to show progress. She did not try to analyze her behavior; she knew she couldn’t justify it.
    A man in a doctor’s coat met her at the top of the building’s steps. His name tag read “Malloy.” He looked her up and down, fished some keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door. “Follow me,” he said, grimly.
    He led her through the waiting area, down a dark corridor, and past a series of examination rooms. With his thumb, he herded her inside the last room and flicked on the light. He opened a drawer under the examination table, withdrew a paper gown, and tossed it at her. “Change into this and then meet me in the hallway.”
    “I can’t just wear my clothes?”
    He smirked and shook his head before closing the door behind him. That smirk stayed with her. She’d seen enough smirking doctors to last a lifetime.
    She changed as instructed and walked out into the hall. Dr. Malloy was waiting by the scale. He motioned for her to step onto it. Bathroom scales are kinder, Dagny thought. They give instant readings. Physicians’ scales require the sliding of weights and the settling of levers, and this only serves to ratchet up the suspenseand maximize the agony. Physicians’ scales were suitable for produce or livestock, not people.
    Malloy fiddled with the smaller weight, sliding it back and forth until the beam finally settled. One hundred eight. It was actually better than she had expected. She had two months to gain seventeen pounds.
    She changed back into her clothes, and he walked her back down the hallway to the main doors. There was no humor in his face. “You would be perfectly healthy at one forty. This one twenty-five...” He shook his head. “If it had been up to me, your target wouldn’t be one twenty-five,” he sighed. “I’ll see you next week.”
    Dagny nodded and started down the steps. She felt relieved that the ordeal was over, until she realized that it had just begun.

CHAPTER 6

    January 17—Alexandria, Virginia
    Dagny climbed out of bed and walked blindly through the darkness to the bathroom. She flicked on the light, stripped off her nightgown, and looked at herself in the mirror.
    People had told her that she was beautiful, but they were wrong. Sure, there were some things she liked—her high cheekbones, for instance, or her long legs, or her small