The document that came to be known, in internal network memos, as "the Western Avenue Treatment," was discovered on the upper level of a Los Angeles strip mall, its pages scattered across the carpet of an abandoned office suite, apparently spit out by a nearby fax machine, the last functioning remnant of a small, ambitious production company called Terrapin Pictures.

At least that's the story Renee Alcala eventually told the network.

Between acting jobs--and the gaps had been growing longer--Renee Alcala worked as a rental agent for several commercial real estate companies. On December 3, 2002, she entered the office in question for the first time. It was just a preliminary visit to assess the space before she could begin showing it to prospective lessees. Now of course, it wasn't Renee's job to do the cleaning, but her ability to close a deal depended on the property looking sharp, so she kept a small plastic crate of cleaning supplies in the trunk of her car. On the morning of December 3, Renee was hopeful that the space might almost be ready to show--she had a lead on a massage therapist who was looking to relocate--so she took the crate of supplies from her trunk and climbed, in her high heels, the outdoor stairs to the upper level.

The office space, 750 square feet, was located on the second story of a strip mall at the intersection of Lemon Grove and N. Western Avenues, above a lavanderia, and next door to a nail salon. Outside the office, Renee set down her crate and looked around. The outdoor walkway was clean and well-swept, with only a few cracks in the concrete. The office itself had floor-to-ceiling front windows, obscured by closed curtains--ecru, woven fabric, decent shape. Renee could smell the moist soapy air from the laundromat below, with only the faintest tang of nail remover mixed in. All in all, the front-door-impression was not too bad. As she took out the keys, she noticed a business card taped on the inside of the glass door: "Terrapin Pictures, Hollywood, California."

Technically true, thought Renee--this side of Western was in the 90038 zip code.

As soon as she opened the door of the empty office suite, Renee Alcala knew that the place needed a professional cleaning. She left her own box of supplies at the front door, and gave herself a quick tour. There was a front reception area, a tiny half-bath, and three small rooms in the back, one of which had apparently been used as a combination kitchen and conference area. It wasn't horrible--the empty pizza boxes had been stacked neatly near the back door, other trash had been bound up in black plastic bags, and most of the remaining mess was just piles of paper. There were no roaches, but it was a long ways from showable.

And all that ratty furniture--it would have to go.

Renee got out her cell phone. First she called the massage therapist, to hint at another possible location for his practice, but really just to reschedule, and then she called the building manager, to demand a moving crew and a thorough cleaning. When the guy started complaining about how much it would cost and how those college kids from out east had run out on their lease, Renee let him have it. Pretty soon he was promising to get the crews, and apologizing for wasting her time with an unshowable space. She smiled as she closed her phone. Actually, of course, Renee preferred to get into a space early, just like this, and take charge.

As she walked back out to the reception area, she noticed the pile of papers under the fax machine. She touched a button--there was still a dial tone. The college kids who thought they were indie producers had never canceled the line.

Renee stooped down and picked up a page. According to the footer, the fax came from some number in the 812 area code, which Renee was pretty sure wasn't anywhere in California. Page 17 of 50. She looked around and found the title page. The Meek Shall Inherit, a Proposal for an Historical Telenovela in the American Language, by Damien di Savoia Underwood. She gathered up all the sheets, and sorted them back into the original order. The moving crew was due in an hour. Renee decided to wait for them. She found the cleanest chair in the office, and sat down to read.

It was the first time she saw the name "Bertha of Savoy"--the part she would play for 112 episodes on cable TV.