She was by the wall, asleep, wearing a black sleeveless dress picked out by her personal stylist, who was busy applying a layer of makeup to her resting face. The room, deep in the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas, was the antithesis of what Las Vegas stands for. There was no glitz or glamour. It was a conference room, replete with requisite conference table and chair, and walls and carpet that were a Grey Poupon-colored smear of goldish brown. Everything looked normal. That was how it was supposed to be. But some things were off.