"Mr. Trussell appreciates your concern, but he really cannot be disturbed right now." Ron Trussell's personal secretary was the type Jo would describe as somewhere between stern grandmother and linebacker, and the woman was currently throwing her weight into blocking Jo and Henry's access to the executive office door behind her.

They had come to TrusMart corporate headquarters after officers reported that Mr. Trussell was present but refusing to enter protective custody. Jo had bullied her way through a few more layers than they had, but Mrs. Kennedy clearly saw "last line of defense" as part of her secretarial duties.

"Can't be disturbed?" Jo's eyebrows spiked. "There is a mentally unbalanced killer out there who thinks your boss is literally an evil villain. Trust me, we are the least disturbing option he's got right now."

The secretary didn't even blink. "Mr. Trussell has excellent security and a very important event to attend tonight. He is not available. I'm sorry for your trouble." She didn't sound sorry.

"Yes, his last two victims had excellent security as well," Henry said, and turned to address the large man with an earpiece and barely-concealed sidearm standing not-so-subtly along one wall. "I suggest you get a letter of reference as soon as possible, before it becomes indelicate." The man was too well-trained to respond, but Henry detected a slight tightening in his jaw muscles. He wanted to know more about the security threat, but it wasn't his job to contradict Mrs. Kennedy.

Jo saw the opening as well. She pitched her voice a level higher and toward the double doors behind Madam Secretary. "I appreciate that Mr. Trussell is a busy man. We wouldn't be here if this weren't a serious and immediate threat to his life. I'm not leaving until we've spoken to him."

The secretary was drawing a breath to respond when the door clicked and swung inward, and Ron Trussell appeared in the doorway. Jo recognized him from the cover of Forbes, but even without that clue she would easily have pegged him as a Fortune 500 CEO. He had that "Master of All I Survey" look about him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy." Trussell spoke to his secretary, but he was looking at Jo with polite unconcern. "I can speak with them. As long as they don't mind watching a grown man fumble around dressing himself." He dipped his chin to indicate the formal black tie half-tied around his neck. "I never got the hang of these things."

"With a butterfly knot, the key is not too much tension. May I?" Henry's even tone and civil choice of topic caught everyone off-guard—everyone but Jo, that is. Even the security men were slow to react when Henry stepped forward and reached for the billionaire's throat.

Trussell recovered first and smiled in a "stand down" gesture to his men. For Henry and the rest of his current audience, he gave a good-natured shrug. "Please do."

Henry loosened the current mess of a bow and started over, going through the motions with practiced ease, until the CEO was sporting a perfectly executed bow tie. He stepped back with a nod of approval, and Trussell turned to a mirror on the wall. He examined Henry's handiwork, looking impressed.

"Thanks. This must be my lucky day, having such an expert stop by at just the right time."

Jo stepped forward at this opening. "Henry is certainly an expert in formal neckwear, but your luck is still up for debate. Mr. Trussell, are you aware that—"

"I know, I know." He waved a hand dismissively. "There's a murderous psychopath after me. And something about Star Wars?"

"Sir, I know it sounds…odd…but the threat is very real."

"Don't get me wrong, Detective," Trussell answered, "I believe you. But I haven't gotten all dressed up just to go to the prom." As he spoke, he peeled a tux jacket off a hanger and slid his arms in. "I am the keynote speaker at a Wells of Hope benefit tonight that my company is funding. A thousand bucks a plate going straight toward clean water in Africa. I'm not canceling because some weirdo thinks I'm Darth Vader. This is why I have the best security available. I'll be fine."

"The Emperor."

Trussell frowned in confusion, and Henry clarified his statement. "Blake Walker has most likely cast you in the role of Emperor Palpatine, not his masked protegé. Your death represents the final step in restoring order to the universe. He will be very persistent in this goal."

"No offense to your men, I'm sure they're excellent," Jo assured, "but the NYPD has more resources. We need you to come with us."

"I truly do appreciate your concern, Detective, Doctor." He nodded to Jo and Henry in turn. "But that is simply out of the question." He buttoned his jacket into place, shrugged into an overcoat, and nodded for his security detail to join him as he walked out of his office and through the reception area. Once he stepped into the elevator, he gave Jo a semi-apologetic smile. "I promise I'll be careful. Good night."

Jo's jaw tightened as she watched the elevator doors close on the three men. Henry stepped over to her side.

"He has the legal right to refuse our help."

Jo nodded grimly. "Sure. But he just made our jobs a lot harder, and the killer's a lot easier."

New York, 1977

"What do you mean, you were fired?" Henry repeated with shocked incredulity. "You are one of their best salesmen." He and his son were sitting together at a favorite corner bar near Abe's apartment. Henry had insisted on the meeting when his son had seemed very distracted and preoccupied over the phone. Now Henry knew why.

Abe ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know that, Pops. It wasn't about my performance. Hey, never mind why." He dismissed the question with a shake of his head and raised his glass. "Here's to fresh starts. There are plenty of places hiring right now. With my qualifications, I'll find something better by next Tuesday."

"Abraham." Henry tilted his head toward his son and gave him a look that said he wouldn't be derailed. "What happened?"

Abe lowered his glass to the bar. "It's stupid. It's nothing." Henry didn't blink, and Abe relented with a sigh. "Remember that guy Stan I met last week?"

"The man I treated during the War? The one who saw me…" Henry trailed off as Abe nodded.

"That's the one. My slip about you still being alive made him pretty suspicious. He started asking a lot of questions. Apparently, there have been a lot of con men lately who cash in on War vets by pretending to be their next of kin."

"That's despicable. You would never do that," Henry stated.

"Yeah, I know that, Dad," Abe said with exaggerated patience, "but our family paperwork doesn't exactly stand up to close scrutiny, ya know? I had to fudge a little. Vets are big customers for us, and the company can't afford to have a story like this getting around. Don't worry, they couldn't prove anything about you," he reassured.

"This isn't about me," Henry protested, "this is about you, and losing your job thanks to me and my condition."

"I thought this wasn't about you," Abe answered with a quirk of his lips.

"Abraham, this is serious."

"Yeah, Pops, it is." Abe looked him in the eyes. "Maybe I want to keep you in town a little longer. I can always get another job. Like you said, I'm a helluva salesman." He grinned and lifted his drink in salute before taking a healthy swallow.

Henry could only smile and shake his head. How any child of his had developed such blithe self-confidence was a mystery to him. It was so...American. Nevertheless, Henry was not willing to let this incident lie. There had to be something he could do.

New York, present day

It didn't take long.

As soon as Henry and Jo returned to the precinct, she arranged for passive surveillance on Ron Trussell and his more-important-than-life fundraiser. Less than ten minutes later, Dispatch showed up on her caller ID.

"That was quick. What happened?"

"Detective, I have a Lou Stone on the line for you." the professional voice of the dispatcher relayed.

Jo frowned. "Who?"

"He says he's Mr. Trussell's head of security."

"Put him through," Jo said, and a moment later, "Mr. Stone? How can I help you?"

"You were right, Detective." The voice on the phone was that of confident man who had been shaken. "I don't know how the little bastard did it, but you were right."

"How he did what?"

"Got past us. Mr. Trussell is gone."

While Jo was asking a few further questions and scribbling down the man's answers, Hanson returned. He waited for Jo to finish her call before sharing what he had learned.

"Keith the lackey did recognize Walker from his building, although he claims he didn't know him well. Just knew him as Blake. Nice enough guy; said they would chat once in awhile—laundry room, elevator, places like that."

"Let me guess: they didn't just talk spoilers from the new movie."

"No Star Wars at all, if you can believe it," Hanson answered. "Keith says they usually talked about current events, including the Firestarter lawsuit against Snyder. Sometimes they talked about their crappy bosses. Blake work at the TrusMart distribution warehouse until a few weeks ago, when he got downsized by automation."

"There's the connection to all three," Jo said. "Snyder, Lovitz, and Trussel. How did Keith react when he found out he unknowingly sent a serial killer after both the lawyer he hated and his scumbag boss?"

"Got a little green around the gills," Hanson said. "Partly because it makes him a suspect for accessory. Again."

"Do you think that's likely?" Henry asked.

"No," Hanson admitted. "But I didn't tell Keith that," he added with a little shrug. "Keeps him cooperative."

Jo grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair. "I'm going to meet Stone at the last place he saw Trussell before he lost him. You two coming?" Hanson nodded, but Henry shook his head.

"You go ahead," he told her. "I need to get some advice from Lucas."

Jo gave him a bemused smile but only nodded. "I'll let you know what we find."

Henry hurried downstairs to the morgue and as expected, Lucas was poring over scans and test results, hoping to find some connection or lead they had missed. Henry smiled to himself in approval. His young assistant was a very hard worker, and his skill at putting together disparate pieces of information really was coming along. In this case, however, Henry needed him to embrace his non-professional, fanatical side.

"Lucas, I need some advice."

Lucas started and nearly bobbled his stack of files onto the floor in surprise. "What? Really? From me?"

"Are there any other Lucases present?"

"No. That is, I see no other Lucases, not 'No, I won't help.' Of course I'll help. I've dreamed of this moment, I just never imagined it would come so soon."

Henry waved his hand in dismissal. "Never mind. Tell me: if you were a homicidally obsessed fan of Star Wars, what would you consider fit justice for the leader of the Dark Forces?"

"That is an excellent question," Lucas began, "and let me start by thanking you for saying 'if'. I may be a fan, but I'm not homicidal. Now." He began to pace slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "The first question is, how has he cast himself in this world? Only then can we determine how he will respond to the Dark Side."

Henry didn't comment on the way his assistant was subtly taking on his own mannerisms while lecturing. He nodded slightly and looked attentive, which was all Lucas needed to continue full-steam ahead.

"With a name like Blake Walker, it's a good bet that he considers himself Luke Skywalker, bringer of balance to the Force. If he thinks Trussell is the Emperor incarnate, he definitely thinks the guy needs to die for the sake of the universe. I mean, I'm not a big fan of the TrusMart business model and staffing practices, but evil incarnate is a little extreme."

"Yes, we all agree that Trussell is his target—especially given the fact that he's just kidnapped him—but how will he do it? Our hard evidence alone will not narrow the field fast enough to save our victim."

"Mm-hm, mm-hm," Lucas nodded thoughtfully and stroked his chin. "I see what you're saying. Combine a fandom-informed profiling model with forensic evidence. I like it."

Henry attempted to steer the conversation back on course. "In the end of the trilogy, the Emperor is cast into a pit. Is the depth important, or is it the fall itself? Are we looking for a tall building near the kidnapping site?"

"No. It's neither." Lucas snapped out of his detached professor spiel as actual inspiration hit. "It's not about the fall from power, it's the literal power."

"The dark energy," Henry said, and Lucas nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"Exactly! The Emperor was killed by his own dark use of the Force turned against him. All that blue lightning—so cool, right? Especially for 1983. Ground-breaking special effects."

"Let's stay in the symbolic world a moment longer, shall we?" Henry said. "According to his file and our examination of his previous victims, how might Blake Walker recreate this feedback of dark energy to kill his ultimate enemy?"

"It's easy enough to electrocute someone," Lucas mused. "Any old car battery will do it. TrusMart even has their own automotive service chain. But the back room of some TrusMartAuto outlet doesn't seem quite...Death Starry enough."

"The location should represent the core of Trussell's power," Henry agreed.

"What about headquarters?" Lucas asked. "You and Jo visited earlier, right? Is it possible Walker took him back there?"

"It's possible," Henry conceded, "although security was extensive. He would have had a difficult time getting past the front doors, much less connecting the CEO to any sort of power source. No," he said, starting to pace, "what we need is a location with both meaning and opportunity, preferably with a forensic connection."

They both thought silently for a moment until Lucas gasped. "Oh!" He darted to the desk and shuffled through the papers he'd almost dropped when Henry arrived until he found what he was looking for. "Polymers!"

"Polymers...the ones CSU found on the cave floor?" Henry asked.

"Yes!" Lucas held up the chem report excitedly for Henry to see. "These two are used in nearly all floor waxes. CSU thinks they were probably tracked in by our killer, but they're too common to be useful. But this third substance is artificial coloring. They thought it was residuals from the empty cans of Mega-Caf found in the cave—you know the stuff," he added.

"That alarmingly green energy drink. Yes, I am familiar," Henry said with a slight wince.

"it wasn't a residual," Lucas said confidently. "It was Glo-Wax. Same green, different liquid."

It was Henry's turn to light up with inspiration. "Excellent, Lucas!"

"Thanks, except how does this help us? Glo-Wax got pulled two years ago, and there's no way to track who owns it now."

"Exactly!" Henry explained, "Given the public recall, where is the only place likely to still be using it in large quantities?"

Now Lucas was tracking. "TrusMart! Probably transferred to generic bottles, but they took a huge production hit on that recall. At least they could save a little housekeeping money until supplies ran out."

Henry nodded. "Walker worked in the distribution warehouse for three years. He knew it well. And what better location to serve as the "heart of the empire" than the hub of all products moving in and out?" He picked up the nearest phone. "I'll call Jo."

After he dialed, he turned once more to his assistant. "Thank you, Lucas. "

Lucas shrugged, obviously pleased. "Yeah, well. Happy to do what I can to balance the Fandom Force for good." Henry didn't respond, and Lucas shook his head. "Never mind. You're welcome. So," he continued, "is this how it started with you and Dr. Borgen?"

Henry glanced up from the ringing phone, distracted. "How what started?"

"Oh, you know. Two colleagues, consulting each other on tough cases, sometimes continuing on to fame and international renown…"

"I met Grace at a conference four years ago, just before I took the position here." Henry appeared to be half remembering, half listening through the phone. "We connected after asking similar questions at a Q&A session on the dating of Viking remains from the Isle of Man." He shook his head. "Deplorable methods. She wrote a much more accurate paper the following year. I consulted." He glanced at his assistant. "So no, she and I have never worked together catching a murderer obsessed with popular culture. Try to embrace your own strengths, Lucas."

"Right."

Henry frowned toward the phone. "Jo's not picking up. I hope everything is alright." He hung up and dialed again, this time trying Hanson's number.

"—an—"

"Hanson? Are you there?"

"—end—recep—park— you back." Only clipped fragments survived the bad connection before the call ended.

Henry looked from the phone to Lucas. "Hardly better."

"What about dispatch?" Lucas suggested. "There must be an officer with a radio somewhere nearby."

"Good idea." Henry handed the phone to him and headed purposefully for the elevators. "Tell them I'll be at the TrusMart warehouse."

"Wait, what?" Lucas called after his boss. "You're going by yourself? Jo's not going to like that." But Henry was already disappearing behind the elevator doors. "She will definitely yell at you." Lucas mumbled, to himself now, as he dialed dispatch and lifted the receiver to his ear. "But first she's going to yell at me. So, thanks for that."

It took Henry three tries to find the right door, a little-used service entrance with a picked lock on the side of the building. The facility had no third shift, and with the time approaching ten o'clock, the parking lot was all but abandoned. Even at this time of night, keeping a hostage in an active workplace where Trussell might be recognized seemed extremely risky. Such a high level of recklessness could indicate that Walker was nearing the end of his self-appointed mission to save the galaxy, or however he framed his delusion. He was taking chances, which would make him easier to catch. It also made him more dangerous. With that thought, Henry swung the door slowly open.

The corridor within was empty of both light and sound. Henry stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. He stood very still, allowing his senses to adjust to the new environment. Gradually he perceived light glowing faintly from around a corner at the end of the hallway, and he quietly followed it.

Two corners later, he froze at the muffled sound of voices. A few more paces brought him to a heavy metallic door latched firmly shut. The room was labeled only with a number, but judging by the weight of the door and the large number of pipes, ducts, and electrical bundles leading in and out along the ceiling, Henry suspected this room housed the boiler as well as the electrical panels. He pressed one ear to the metal and strained to hear the voices within.

"…pointless. You have no power over me. In fact, your power will be the death of you soon enough."

"Listen, I don't know who you are, or why you want to kill me. Will you at least tell me that?" Henry recognized Trussell's voice. He sounded shaken, but not terrified. Henry supposed it took a certain amount of steel under pressure to get to where the business magnate was in life.

"Of course you don't know me. Why would you care who keeps places like this running?" The voice Henry could only assume belonged to Blake Walker was taut with stress and sarcasm. "Why would you care who built your Empire, or whether we can afford health care? Things must look pretty rosy from way up on that throne of yours. So how do you like the view from this new seat?" Walker sounded pleased by what he thought was a clever joke, and Henry suspected he knew why.

Russell didn't sound amused either. "Okay, I can see you're upset—"

Walker cut him off with a bark of laughter. "Nice try, Big Guy, but you're not negotiating your way out of this one."

"Then why are we talking? Why not just kill me already?" Henry had to give Trussell credit for guts.

"Because," Walker said calmly, "at the right moment, your own power will destroy you. All I have to do is wait and watch."

"So when is this right moment? The stroke of midnight, like some fairy tale? I think I have the right to know when I'm going to die, don't you?" Trussell was making a valiant effort to sound calm, but Henry could hear the tremor of fear under his bravado.

"If you ever came down off your throne, you would know the answer to that question. And don't talk to me about rights."

Walker was calm again, in control. What did he mean? Henry frowned in thought and glanced around the stark hallway at the ducts and panels lining the ceiling and walls. Many of the sorting and picking functions in this warehouse were now automated. Trussell had been both praised for adopting innovative technologies and villainized for eliminating blue collar jobs. The amount of power required for such automation must be considerable, he thought, and most likely centrally programmed to activate at a certain time.

It was time to leave. He needed to find Jo as quickly as possible.

"What's this? I sense a disturbance." Walker's voice broke into Henry's realization. "Looks like we're not alone, Big Guy."

Before Henry could follow through on his plan to retreat, the heavy metal door before him swung open, and he was face-to-face with Blake Walker. The man was medium height and build, not at all imposing to look at, with shaggy hair that Henry suspected was dyed to that familiar shade of blonde. The one thing that was imposing was the pistol he was pointing at Henry.

"I know you. You're with the police." Walker's eyes darted up and down the dark corridor, looking for the other cops that must certainly be there. The man didn't know him so well after all, Henry thought with grim humor, but he had to give Walker credit for doing his homework. He must have been monitoring one or more of the crime scenes in order to recognize Henry.

"I'm here alone," Henry said, hands raised. "Surely if you sensed my presence, you know that."

Walker gave him a long look, like he was waiting for him to continue and make the mocking joke more obvious, but Henry said nothing else. After all, the man had sensed him. Most likely by way of surveillance equipment, but sensed nonetheless.

"You came here alone? What kind of stupid cop are you? Turn out your pockets. All of them." Henry did as ordered, and despite holding the gun steadily on his interloper, Walker relaxed slightly at the sight of no weapon, no radio, not even a cell phone.

"I'm not a cop; I'm a doctor. I'm with the medical examiner's office." His eyes darted past Walker's shoulder to take in Ron Trussell's situation. Halfway across the room, the man was bound by the wrists and ankles to a metal chair. His jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up, and the front of his tux shirt pulled open, Henry's carefully tied butterfly knot in ruins. Leading from a nearby electrical panel to the man's wrists, ankles and chest were thick cables.

Henry took all this in at a glance, but it was long enough for Walker to notice. He advanced on Henry enough to force him a few steps further back into the passage and out of sight of his captive.

"I'm impressed that you found me. Sorry, but impressed. You don't seem all that Dark, just caught up in the struggle. Unfortunately, Stormtroopers usually go down with the ship."

"Blake, you don't need to do this."

He gave a humorless bark of laughter. "Yes, I do! I'm the only one who can. And I can't let you stop me. I really am sorry, but you should know that your sacrifice will help to bring balance."

Before Henry could say another word, a shot echoed loudly through the stark space. He looked down, the not-quite-painful sensation all too familiar to him. Sure enough, a deep red stain was spreading quickly across his shirt and waistcoat. Blake Walker had shot him point blank through the heart.

He sank to his knees and looked up to find the man still watching him. Soon, he would see too much. Henry searched desperately through his mind for some way to make the man turn away, but thought and sensation were both slipping away too quickly. His last thought as he slumped over onto the concrete floor, his killer watching with curiosity and mild regret, was that Lucas had been right: Jo would be very angry.