“Hey, would you preview your own files before playing them?” Haywood snapped. “Did you even hear what that was? That fella was going to town on the prime minister — criticizing like mad.” He paced the room and chewed the tip of his pipe. “The Constabulary could be tapping into my security camera records right now — tracing for just the right audio keywords. Oh, brilliant! Let’s roast His Majesty in front of a state-traced security camera! Great idea!”

“I never got a change to preview —” you began.

“Doesn’t matter now, bucko,” Haywood said, stuffing some cash and your thumb drive into your hand and ushering you out of the door. “Sorry — you better go, like, now.”