Swimming with Sharks

Early October 2000

Zack disappeared to California for a few weeks after the Syncrotron debacle. The official story was that he had to organize the restructuring of LMI’s West Coast office. But Alex knew better. Levy had sent Zack to LA until the dust settled and she had calmed down. Even Sergio left the city for a while in August, and she was happy that there was no follow-up on his marriage proposal. She was also relieved that he hadn’t asked her to see him, since the sheer thought of seeing him caused her physical discomfort.

Oliver had helped her find a new place, because she could no longer stand living in Sergio’s apartment. The converted loft was in Tribeca, in a secure complex that had residential units, offices, and a film company headquarters. Alex liked the underground parking garage the best. In case Sergio was still watching her, it had exits to two streets so she could escape from possible pursuers.

Over the past few months, she had often considered calling Nick Kostidis, but she simply didn’t have the courage. She had sent him a condolence card and received a printed thank-you note soon thereafter, which he had signed personally.

The entire financial world seemed to be on vacation in August. But with the start of September, Wall Street was once again flooded with new transactions, and—thanks to Alex—LMI was involved in the biggest and most profitable deals.

On October 1, she ran into Zack in the LMI Building lobby. He was leaner and seemed relaxed.

“Let’s bury the hatchet, Alex,” he said in a friendly tone. “I made a silly mistake and got roasted because of it.”

Alex trusted him as little as before, but she shook his hand for tactical reasons.

“Truce?” Zack asked.

“Truce,” she replied.

She wasn’t surprised when Sergio called her that very same afternoon, right after Levy had ordered her into his office to request a meeting Saturday morning. It was clear they feared that she would resign because Zack was back in town. Their game was annoyingly transparent to Alex. She would have simply loved to tell Sergio to go to hell and leave her alone, but she couldn’t do it just like that. Instead, because of his persistence, she reluctantly accepted an invitation for dinner at his apartment on Park Avenue that coming Friday.

Sergio was suntanned, and his blue eyes were gleaming. The bullet wound and his son’s death—all of it seemed to have passed him by without a trace. But for the first time since she had known him, Alex wasn’t taken by his handsome looks; she saw that his beauty was as cold and empty as that of an antique statue. The smile didn’t shine in his eyes, and his charming exterior was like a thin layer of varnish over what she knew was a ruthless and brutal core. The moment Alex saw him, she realized that there had never been anything more between them than pure physical attraction.

They entered one of the apartment’s huge salons where a table was set for two. During the multicourse dinner, Alex had to muster all her strength to pretend that she was happy to see him again after such a long time. But really, she wanted to tell him that she knew he was a murderer. She longed for this arduous evening to end, but the time passed so painfully slowly. They finally made it to the digestif, and Sergio led her to a different salon.

“I also have a little gift for you, cara,” he announced with a smile and handed her a small package. “Open it. I’m sure that you’ll like it.”

Alex obeyed and froze when she opened the jewelry box. A diamond-studded white gold necklace lay on black velvet. She would not allow herself to be bought by this gift. Thirty pieces of silver for her silence. Sergio took the necklace and placed it around her neck. She shivered when the cool metal touched her skin. “Wonderful,” he said, satisfied. “I knew that it would look magnificent on you.”

“I can’t accept this,” Alex refused. “It’s much too valuable.”

“Yes, you can.” Sergio leaned toward her and kissed her. “You can. The most beautiful jewelry for the most beautiful woman I know.”

“Sergio, I…” Alex felt more uncomfortable by the minute, but he put his index finger on her lips, smiling.

“This past year has been difficult for my business,” he said, “but now I’ve solved all the problems and come to the conclusion that it’s time to change my life.”

Alex felt a chill. She thought about Nick Kostidis, David Zuckerman, and the assassination attempt by the Colombian drug cartel. Oh yes, Sergio had definitely solved his problems in his own way.

“I think,” he continued, “that you should live here. With me. I’ll file for a divorce from Constanzia, and then we can get married.”

Alex had hoped that he would never mention this topic again. She didn’t know how to react. His hand was resting on her knee and wandered up her thigh. Then he leaned her head back and kissed her.

“I love you, cara,” he murmured. “I’ve longed for you so much in the past weeks.”

Alex cursed herself for accepting Sergio’s invitation. She didn’t want his gift, and she couldn’t stand his touch. The mere thought of being married to this ice-cold killer filled her with horror.

“We’ll have a wedding that people will still talk about fifty years from now.” His hands slid beneath her blouse, and he started breathing heavily. “And then we’ll cruise on the Stella Maris for our honeymoon—just you and I. For as long as you want. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Sergio pulled her on top of him, and she was filled with disgust when she felt his erection. But what could she do in this situation other than play along with him?

“I wish we could get married tomorrow,” she lied, responding to his kiss. She felt like bursting into tears. “It was always my dream to live on Park Avenue. I’m curious what Trevor and Madeleine will say. Maybe you can buy a house on Long Island. Perhaps I’ll resign my position at LMI.”

Sergio paused for a split second.

“If that’s what you want, cara,” he whispered hoarsely. “You can do whatever you like.”

On Saturday morning, Alex arrived at eleven o’clock on the nose at Vincent Levy’s office. Levy led her to his office and offered her some coffee.

“Alex,” LMI’s president began, “I’d like to talk to you about St. John.”

He crossed his legs and waited for a reaction, but Alex had no intention of accommodating him. This conversation had been long overdue and should have occurred three months ago, but he had probably been too cowardly.

“Well,” he continued, “St. John has come to his senses recently. It’s a terrible thing that he snooped around in your desk. I was very angry about that and clearly expressed that to him. But I’m pretty sure that he has learned his lesson. He lost a lot of money using the information that he found to speculate on his own account.”

Liar, Alex thought. Zack hadn’t lost a penny because it wasn’t his money. But she knew that she also needed to play along with Levy’s game.

“St. John used an outside brokerage account for his…hmm…personal trades so that no harm was done to LMI.”

That was also a lie.

“Vincent,” Alex said, leaning forward, “I suspect that Zack has done this before. I’ve informed him about every imminent deal, as you asked me to, although that violates all kinds of rules. LMI still has an impeccable reputation, but I seriously fear that St. John is threatening it with his insider trading.”

“I agree.” Levy seemed embarrassed. “This certainly is serious, and I’ve warned St. John never to violate the law again so blatantly.”

Alex would have burst out laughing if Levy’s farce didn’t have such serious consequences. How stupid did he think she was?

“I don’t want to work with him anymore,” she said with determination. “He’s betrayed my confidence. I don’t want to be subject to an SEC investigation. I won’t pass on any information to him, and I demand that you prohibit him from entering my office.”

Alex noticed the thin layer of sweat on Levy’s forehead despite the cool temperature in his office. She had him backed in to a corner. Levy and Vitali needed both her and Zack equally to continue their fraudulent conspiracy.

“I understand that you feel betrayed.” Levy cleared his throat and forced himself to smile. “I also understand that you’re angry, but we’ll find a way to continue together.”

“Not with St. John!” She shook her head emphatically. “Vince, I have to tell you, I keep getting interesting offers from other firms that I’ve so far declined because I’m happy at LMI and enjoy working here. But if there’s another incident like this, I’ll feel compelled to resign on the spot.”

“Calm down, Alex! It won’t happen again. I promise you.”

“Will St. John leave the company?”

“He’s on the board.” Levy shifted back and forth in his chair. “His dismissal would cause a lot of talk and unrest.”

“Put yourself in my shoes. Would you like to work with someone who digs around in your desk behind your back?”

Alex could see how uncomfortable Levy felt.

“From now on, you will just report to me personally, Alex. You won’t have to deal with St. John anymore.”

“He’ll boycott all of my deals.” She looked at her boss coolly. “He has already threatened me with that. That’s not particularly fertile ground for a successful future, is it?”

Levy desperately tried to justify keeping St. John with the firm. He normally would have been fired for insider trading and reported to the authorities—board member or not—but Alex knew that Levy couldn’t exactly do that.

“Since I can’t trust the information flow in this company anymore,” she said, “I’ll strictly adhere to the Chinese wall principle and keep all of the information to myself until it’s made public.”

“You’re right.” Levy leaned forward. It almost seemed like there was a hint of panic in his eyes. “You should do it exactly that way. Maybe it was my mistake to involve St. John too much with the M&A department. From now on, you just report to me personally.”

Alex looked at him closely, and then she stood up.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Vincent. I’ll stay until you find a suitable successor for my position.”

She knew that Levy would immediately tell Sergio about this conversation. Yesterday, she had told him that she would like to resign at LMI. Everything was working out perfectly. It wouldn’t be hard for her to move on from LMI; she really would have no problem finding a new job. She’d just recently had an interesting conversation with Carter Ringwood from First Boston, where he had offered her a position. Levy also stood up.

“I understand your anger,” he said, “but please don’t make any rash decisions. We’re extremely pleased with your performance and would be happy to offer you a contract with a higher fixed salary. Think about it.”

“It’s not about the money,” Alex replied. “I just don’t want to be put behind bars.”

“I’ll arrange everything so you’re happy,” Levy promised. “Okay?”

“Do what you can.”

She shook her boss’s hand and left his office.

Right after the door closed behind her, Levy sank into the chair behind his desk. He felt like wringing St. John’s neck! Everything was going smoothly, but the man had acted like an absolute rookie. If St. John hadn’t told Alex that he’d rummaged around in her papers, then nothing would have happened. Damn his greed and pathological narcissism! Someone in his position had to be able to keep it together. Nevertheless, it was obvious the man couldn’t bear the fact that Alex’s star was shining brighter than ever.

Levy sighed as he grabbed the telephone and dialed Sergio Vitali’s number. He had hoped that Alex would calm down after three months, but this apparently wasn’t the case. If she stuck to her threat and left LMI, it would put an end to these lucrative side earnings for quite a while. Finding someone as good as she was would be difficult, if not impossible.

On the other end of the line, Sergio personally answered the phone.

“I’m afraid that she’s suspicious,” Levy said. “She demands that I fire Zack. If not, she’s threatening to quit LMI.”

Sergio replied calmly. “Just take it easy. We’ve opened an account for her, and we’ll tell her about it when the time is right. I bet that she’ll become agreeable by then.”

“I don’t know. It’s not easy to intimidate her. She’s really clever.”

Sergio knew that. He smiled slightly. Although he still couldn’t figure her out, she had seemed sincere with him last night. She had seemed pleased with the necklace and the prospect of living on Park Avenue. They made plans for their future together. She had even confided in him about her mistrust of St. John and her desire to leave LMI. She even told him that she’d been at Gracie Mansion, and how shocked she was about the attack on the mayor. Never before had Alex talked this openly to him.

“She’ll be reasonable, Vince,” he reassured his business partner. “Don’t worry about her.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Levy wasn’t so convinced.

“I will be, as usual,” Sergio countered. “I have Alex under control.”

Alex left her office after sitting at her desk for a few hours. She hadn’t accomplished anything. She was preoccupied with Sergio’s behavior and all of the things that she had uncovered. It was obvious that Levy wasn’t about to fire Zack—after all, he was the man for his dirty work. Furthermore, he knew too much. But despite all of this, she was also indispensable to this elaborate scheme to generate dirty money. This was obviously why Sergio and Levy wouldn’t let her leave LMI. Sergio’s renewed marriage proposal could have been earnest, but Alex wasn’t sure whether his primary motive was to tie her to him and to LMI. It would be a lie to claim she wasn’t afraid of Sergio. He terrified her.

Alex sighed and closed her eyes. Last night she had decided to call Nick Kostidis. She needed to talk to him. He was the only person who could tell her what to do with the information she had. From a phone booth, she dialed the number that Nick had given to her. A man named Frank Cohen answered.

“This is Alex Sontheim,” she said. “I need to speak to Mayor Kostidis. It’s important.”

“Mayor Kostidis is unavailable at the moment,” he replied.

“I was a guest at Gracie Mansion in July. Mayor Kostidis knows me.”

Cohen hesitated.

“Listen,” Alex said emphatically, “I know that this might be a bad time, but I have information that could shed light on the bombing.”

“Mayor Kostidis is in no condition to talk about this. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Alex replied. “But when can I speak to him?”

“I can’t help you. I’m sorry. Try his office again in a few weeks.”

In a few weeks! This guy must be joking! Alex thanked him and hung up. It occurred to her that she’d read somewhere that Nick’s family had been buried at the St. Ignatius cemetery in Brooklyn. It was too late now, but she planned to drive there the next morning. Maybe she’d be lucky and find Nick there.

The St. Ignatius cemetery was so old it almost felt medieval. With its tall old trees and ivy-covered walls, it seemed like a film set for a historical movie.

In the taxi to Brooklyn, Alex kept looking through the rear window, but her fear of being followed seemed unfounded. The air was cool for early October, and morning fog made the cemetery even darker than it already was.

Alex walked slowly through the rows of graves. Weeds were sprouting from the cracks in the veined, bulging stone slabs. The lettering on the gravestones was faded from the wind and weather. Mold-covered marble angels stared stoically into the distance with unfocused eyes.

Although the aura of mortality was oppressive, she was fascinated by this cemetery—a peaceful, surreal oasis in the middle of this restless city. Alex had no clue where the graves of Mary and Christopher Kostidis were, and she seemed to be the only living person there. She wandered among the graves until she finally saw Nick Kostidis. He was sitting on a bench with his back hunched and his head lowered. He seemed so lonely, so unhappy, that her heart constricted in sympathy. How could she even consider bothering him with her problems? Who was she to disturb him in his grieving? It was far too late to help him.

Alex hesitated and was about to turn around when the church bells started chiming. Kostidis looked up, and their eyes met. She walked over to him.

She looked down at the grave. Reading the names etched into the granite gravestone, she realized that Nick Kostidis’s entire family was buried here: his parents, his brothers, and now also his wife and son. Suddenly, she felt his pain and fought back tears while folding her hands and murmuring the only prayer that she could remember from her childhood—the Lord’s Prayer.

How terrible and senseless these deaths were. She slowly turned her gaze toward the dark eyes of this man she had met that night at the Plaza almost two years ago. He had warned her at the time, but she didn’t listen to him. Alex remembered the intensity of his eyes and his laugh. He had aged years during the past few months.

She suddenly couldn’t remember why she had come here. Without saying a word, she sat down next to him on the bench. The bells stopped chiming, and the quiet sound of an organ seeped through the thick walls of the church, its silhouette visible in the morning fog.

“For almost three months now, I’ve been sitting here for hours every day,” Nick said quietly after a while. “I’m waiting for the moment when I can finally cry.”

He ran a hand through his hair, which had turned increasingly gray.

“I suggested that they take my car because Christopher’s car wouldn’t start, and now they’re dead.”

Alex was deeply touched by his trust. She could feel Nick’s need to talk in order not to suffocate. He stared off into the distance.

“I’d love to be able to cry. But I can’t. Everything is dead inside of me. I keep asking myself why? Why Mary? Why my son? Why the girl? It’s not their fault that I…I…that I refused to listen to the warnings. It’s my fault because I thought of nothing else but chasing Vitali, even though Mary kept asking—no, begging—me to stop.”

He fell silent, and Alex heard him take a deep breath before continuing.

“How can I live with this? How can I ever fix what I’ve caused?”

“But you didn’t do anything. He did.”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head. “I was obsessed by the thought of stopping him. I shouldn’t have provoked him.”

He grimaced.

“What difference would it make if he were in prison today? With his connections, he’d be out in no time, and nothing would have changed. If I’d stopped chasing him and attacking him in public, they would still be alive today.”

Nick hid his face in his hands. Alex hardly understood a single word he said.

“I was arrogant. Fanatical. But I was wrong. It almost seems as if God wanted to punish me for my pride and arrogance.

“No,” Alex objected quietly, “you only tried to speak the truth. That was courageous of you.”

“Courageous?” His voice sounded bitter. “It wasn’t courageous. It was stupid.”

“You warned me about Vitali,” Alex said. “I refused to believe you at the time, but now I see that you were right.”

He looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

“No one can get to him. He’s stronger because he’s unscrupulous and brutal.”

“That’s not true,” Alex answered. “It is possible to get to him. I’ve unearthed things about him that could ruin him.”

“A few months ago, I would have been happy to hear that,” Nick said and sighed. “Now I just don’t care anymore. That won’t bring my family back to life.”

Alex remained silent. She understood how he felt.

“Why did you come here, Alex?” Nick looked at her with torment and self-reproach in his eyes. Alex felt like holding him in her arms and consoling him.

“I didn’t know your wife very well,” Alex whispered, fighting her tears, “but I respected her very much. And I also like you, Nick. It kills me to see you suffer like this.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and she noticed how Nick’s lips quivered.

“It’s strange.” He gave her a hopeless and penetrating gaze. “Of all the people I thought were my friends, no one has said that to me. They only had empty words. ‘Life goes on’ and ‘time heals all wounds.’ They stay away from me as if I had leprosy. I can sense it. But really, what I needed was someone to talk to.”

“Most people are afraid of being confronted with death,” Alex replied.

“But you, Alex, you hardly know me, and still you aren’t afraid to come here and talk to me.”

“I grew up in the country,” she answered. “The cycle of life and death is normal there. People here remain silent, as if death didn’t exist.”

“I could accept death, even though it would be difficult,” Nick said, “but the thought that it’s my fault…”

“As long as you tell yourself that you’re at fault for your family’s death, you’ll never be able to cope with what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Nick looked at Alex with a somewhat surprised expression.

“Forgive me, Nick,” she replied, “but I don’t think you’re even trying to process what happened. You’re running away by tormenting yourself with this self-reproach.”

Nick was silent for a moment. Alex was afraid she had offended him.

“Vitali must have tried to kill you because you stepped on his toes. You didn’t do it out of vanity, but conviction,” she said emphatically. “You were convinced that you were doing the right thing. How can that be a mistake? It was a tragic chain of unfortunate events that your family was hit instead of you. If you and your chauffeur had taken the car, then you’d be dead now.”

Nick stared at her, and she returned his look.

“When I was ten,” she said quietly, “my grandfather gave me a foal. I raised it, broke it in myself, and loved it more than anything else in the world. It was a magnificent horse. A few years later, a thunderstorm approached. My grandfather called to me and said that I should bring the horse into the stable. I didn’t do it because I was reading an exciting book. Thunderstorms were nothing unusual. So I left my horse outside.”

Nick looked at Alex steadily.

“The next morning,” she continued, “I wanted go riding, but my horse wasn’t there. I searched the entire paddock and finally found it. It had been struck by lightning out in the meadow. I was beside myself with grief and blamed myself. I knew that it was my fault because I hadn’t listened to my grandfather. Of all the horses, my horse was dead. I thought I’d die from grief, and my feelings of guilt were so intense. I wished that I could turn back time and undo my mistake, but I couldn’t.”

She sighed, remembering.

“I blamed myself. That was the first time in my life that I realized how many things just happen in life, and we can’t change them after the fact. This may sound fatalistic, but that’s simply the way it is. My girlfriend’s father was struck dead by a falling tree, my younger brother died while walking home from school when a truck driver lost control of his vehicle, and a friend of mine from school died at fifteen from leukemia. Aren’t these cases just as senseless as your family’s death? And who’s at fault?”

Nick’s face was twitching. Alex detected a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Impulsively, she grabbed his hand, which was scarred from the burns.

“It’s not your fault, Nick.” Her voice trembled. “And your wife certainly wouldn’t want you to sit here and torment yourself with all this guilt.”

“No,” Nick said, his voice gruff, “she wouldn’t want that. She…had steadfast belief in God and always found comfort in the Bible.”

Alex sensed him trembling.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” he whispered, “I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

Pools of tears formed in Alex’s eyes.

“Psalm 23. It was her favorite verse. I keep repeating these words, hoping to understand what Mary found comforting in them.”

Nick’s voice failed him, and his hand clamped around Alex’s.

“My God,” he exclaimed, “I miss them so much! I always thought that we had an infinite amount of time together, but now I see there’s no time left at all!”

Nick saw Alex’s tears and sensed her sincere sympathy. Maybe it was this certainty that he was no longer alone, that another person understood his pain, that let the dam inside of him burst all at once. His long-suppressed tears suddenly ran down his face, and he didn’t feel ashamed. The powerful, fearless Nicholas Kostidis allowed himself to be weak and discouraged. He cried unlike anyone Alex had ever seen cry before. It was the terrible sobbing of a desperate man. She took him into her arms.

He slipped off the bench, fell to his knees, and crying desperately, he pressed his face into Alex’s lap. She simply held him tight, stroked his hair, and let him cry the cathartic tears. His abysmal grief shook her to the core, but she admired him for showing his real emotions. After a while, Nick’s crying abated. He clung to Alex like a child looking for comfort and security.

“Everything will be all right,” she murmured. “Everything will be all right.”

“Really?” Nick raised his tearstained face to look at her. His eyes were red from crying.

“Yes,” she nodded, “I’m sure of it. All wounds heal, and what remains are the memories of the beautiful things that you experienced together. There won’t be any forgetting, but there will be understanding.”

“How can you be so sure, Alex?”

Nick was still kneeling in front of her, and she held both of his hands.

“Because that’s the way it is. Because I’ve experienced it myself.”

Nick leaned his head on her knee again and took a trembling breath.

“I’m sorry that I lost my composure like this,” he whispered.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Alex answered softly. “It makes me happy to know that I could help you even the smallest bit. There are times when we need someone to listen and try to understand.”

“Do you?” Nick looked at her again. “Do you understand me?”

“I think I do.” Alex observed his tormented and hopeless face pensively. She reached out and stroked his unshaven cheek, which was moist with tears. A bond of trust had formed between them.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you, Nick,” Alex said in a throaty voice. “And you don’t have to worry that I’ll tell anyone.”

“Thank you.” He managed to smile slightly and rose to his feet with some effort. “I’m so grateful to you.”

They sat next to each other for a while before Alex realized that she was still holding Nick’s hand. She let go of it with a sense of embarrassment.

“I… I have to go now. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he replied, and it seemed to Alex as if a tiny glimpse of his old energy had returned. “I’m much better now.”

Before she could leave, he grabbed her hand again. “Why did you really come here, Alex?”

She looked at him, and then she stood up.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied.

Lost in her thoughts, she walked along the cemetery’s winding paths. The sun had penetrated the dense clouds in some areas; its warm rays had melted the fog away. The Mass was over, and churchgoers visited their relatives’ graves. Alex was still dazed by the unexpected trust that Nick Kostidis had placed in her, and she felt a deep affection for him. He wasn’t hard and ruthless. He was completely different than she ever imagined.

As Alex turned a corner, she almost collided with a man. She murmured an apology, but an ice-cold shock struck her when she saw this man’s face. Never again would she forget those cold, yellowish eyes. It was the man she had seen at Sergio’s birthday party—the man who killed David Zuckerman. And there could only be one reason why he was here at this cemetery: he’d come to finish a job that failed a few weeks ago. Sergio had sent him here to kill Nick Kostidis.

Alex didn’t consider the fact that she was also in danger, that the man possibly recognized her and might tell Sergio she was here. She worried only for Nick as he sat unsuspectingly at his family’s grave. Luckily, the man with the yellow eyes didn’t know exactly where Nick was. He walked slowly around the cemetery’s paths with a searching look, but trying not to attract any attention.

Alex broke into a run with a pounding heart and reached the bench where she had sat next to Nick just moments earlier. But the bench was empty. Panic raced through her, and she started to run again. Finally she saw him. He was walking toward the church with his head down and his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

Apparently the man with the yellow eyes had spotted him that very same moment. Protected by a massive yew tree, he raised his rifle and took aim. Alex stumbled across the graves. She didn’t care that people were looking at her angrily.

“Nick!” Her voice cracked. “Watch out!”

Nick Kostidis turned around in surprise, but she had already reached him and thrown her body against his. They both lost their balance and fell to the ground. The bullet that was meant for Nick hit the gravestone right behind them, smashing the stone slab and breaking it into two pieces.

“What… what… what was that?” he asked in confusion. Alex carefully turned her head to look for the shooter. He was gone. Then the floodgates burst, and she started to cry. A few passersby came closer and stared curiously at them.

“Somebody shot at me, right?” Nick whispered.

“Yes.” Alex got up, sobbing, wiping her tears. Nick also stood up. He was very pale, yet surprisingly calm.

“You saved my life,” he said and grabbed her hand. Alex flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

“I recognized this man by chance when he walked past me,” she said, her voice wavering hysterically. “I’ve seen him at Vitali’s house. I was at his birthday party and got lost in the house when suddenly this man was standing right in front of me.”

Her knees turned to rubber, and she needed to sit down. Nick knelt next to her, looking at her in concern.

“I followed him. The door to the library was slightly ajar, and then I heard… I… I heard this man say to Sergio: It is done. Zuckerman won’t utter another word. Do you understand, Nick? This man shot David Zuckerman, and now he tried to kill you!”

“Are you sure it was the same man?” Nick observed her closely.

“Yes, yes, definitely.” She nodded vehemently. “I’ll never forget his face. He’s one of Vitali’s henchmen. Oh my God, this is terrible!”

She couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her face, and this time it was Nick’s turn to console her.

“Come on, Alex.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up gently. “Let’s get out of here.”

“And what if he tries again?”

“He won’t.” Nick was surprised by his own coldness. Alex’s panic sobered him, and suddenly he was able to think more clearly than he had in months. Just this morning, he would have preferred to die so that he wouldn’t have to endure this pain and his terrible feelings of guilt. He thought he would never feel anything again, but he was mistaken. He’d clearly felt fear just now, and he was worried about Alex—who had just saved his life by risking her own. They entered the church though a hidden side door, but even the thick walls couldn’t make Alex feel safe. She looked back repeatedly and almost expected to see the man with the rifle reappear. Nick held her hand while she walked beside him as if in trance. They left the church and turned into a cloister that had a green courtyard at its center. Nick knew his way around surprisingly well in this maze of corridors and hallways.

Ten minutes later, they were on the third floor of this fortresslike monastery. He stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked.

“Come in!” someone called, and Nick opened the door. The whitewashed room had dark oak beams on the high ceilings and was modestly furnished. Beside the massive, dark wooden desk were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the only wall decorations were a wooden cross and a framed picture of Pope John Paul II. A lean, white-haired Jesuit priest sitting at the desk looked up in surprise.

“Nick!” the priest exclaimed, and a warm smile spread across his face. “How nice to see you!”

“Hello, Father,” Nick replied.

“How are you?” The priest took Nick’s hands in his and looked at him with total sympathy. Alex figured he was older than he looked, for she had never before seen such wisdom as in his kind eyes.

“I’m doing better,” Nick replied. “Thank you.”

“Inscrutable are the ways of God.”

“Yes. It’s difficult, but I think I’ll make it.”

“You are always in our prayers.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Only then did he seem to remember that he wasn’t alone.

“Father, allow me to introduce Ms. Alex Sontheim. She’s a friend of… Mary’s and mine. Alex, this is Father Kevin O’Shaughnessy.”

“Hello.” Father Kevin extended his hand toward Alex, and his firm handshake surprised her.

“Father Kevin is an old friend of mine,” Nick explained. “I was an altar boy in his church.”

“Sit down, please,” the Jesuit offered. Alex, whose knees were still soft as butter, smiled gratefully. She sat down on one of the simple wooden chairs, which was as uncomfortable as it looked.

“Someone just tried to shoot me here in the cemetery,” Nick said, and Father Kevin turned pale.

“Shoot you? In our cemetery?” He made the sign of the cross.

Nick told him briefly what had happened and then grabbed the telephone. Alex, whose body was still shaking, noticed that his voice sounded almost as firm and energetic as when she knew him before. He called his assistant—this Frank Cohen who’d brushed her off so determinedly yesterday—and repeated the whole story. Then Nick turned to Alex.

“How are you?” he asked, sincerely concerned, and grabbed her hand.

“That’s what I should ask you.” She tried to smile but hardly managed it. “You’re the one who was shot at, after all.”

Nick gave her a friendly look. The desperation had vanished from his dark eyes.

“I owe very much to you, Alex,” he said quietly. “You brought me back to life today and saved it shortly thereafter. As of this morning, I felt like I’d rather be dead, but now I realize that I’m still clinging to my life.”

Father Kevin, who had been listening silently, cleared his throat.

“Can I help in any way, Nick?”

“I’m sorry that something like this had to happen here of all places,” he responded. “The police will be here any minute.”

Father Kevin looked worried.

“The main thing is that no one got hurt. Do you have any idea who this was?”

Nick’s face darkened, and he swallowed slowly. Alex slightly squeezed his hand, which she was still holding.

“I’m afraid,” he said in a strained voice, “that it was the same people who tried to kill me with the car bomb.”

A half hour later, the otherwise peaceful cemetery was filled with people. The police searched every corner for evidence that could point to the perpetrator. Officers of the NYPD Crime Scene Unit examined the broken tombstone and the bullet, which had been fired by a precision rifle with a silencer. They crawled under the yew tree in search of footprints and talked to other cemetery visitors.

Nick introduced Alex to his assistant, who had rushed over from city hall. She had pictured him completely differently—much older and less pleasant—after their phone conversation the previous day. Frank Cohen was actually hardly older than she was, and he had a serious, narrow face and short dark hair. Behind his thick glasses, she detected an emotion in his eyes she was all too familiar with: fear.

“Nick,” she said quietly, “I can’t tell the police where I know this man from.”

He looked at her.

“Before I talk to the police, I’d like to tell you everything. Please.”

“Of course,” he said. “We’ll tell the police that you’re a random visitor at the cemetery. Okay?”

Alex nodded in relief.

“Come with me,” he said as he put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go to my office. They don’t need us here anymore.”

This was Alex’s first time at city hall. She was impressed when she looked around the office of New York City’s mayor. During the past few hours, she had completely forgotten Nick’s position. She knew many powerful and influential men, but Nick Kostidis was the first to show her that even a powerful man could experience emotions.

Frank Cohen brewed some coffee. Alex initially thought that she couldn’t eat anything, but then suddenly felt as hungry as a wolf. After two cups of coffee and a sandwich, she felt much better. She eased into telling her story. She briefly explained to them what she did at LMI and then talked about Sergio. She was astonished how easy it was for her to talk to the mayor and his assistant about all the things that she had been keeping completely secret. It almost felt like a confession, and she was relieved. She told them about the conversation she had overheard at Sergio’s birthday party last year, about the assassination attempt she had witnessed, about the warehouse in Brooklyn, and her suspicion that Sergio and Levy were exploiting her information for insider trading. Then she shared with them what she’d discovered about the secret slush-fund accounts on Grand Cayman. Both men listened to her with growing consternation. Nick stared at her, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“What do you think about that, Nick?” Frank said. “De Lancie, McIntyre, Whitewater, Rhodes, Senator Hoffman, even Jerome Harding.”

“I can’t believe it.” Nick leaned back and ran his hand through his hair. “If that’s actually true, then…”

Frank Cohen jumped up excitedly.

“This scheme goes even deeper than we ever suspected!”

Nick suddenly looked tired and very depressed.

“Now I understand why I never had a chance against this man,” he said in a low voice. “Howard informed them about all of my actions. And all the others covered his back no matter what he did.”

“We might be able to get all of them.” Frank’s eyes gleamed. “We could finally drain this swamp of corruption! Nick! This is what you’ve always been fighting for!”

Nick stood up and stepped to the window. He looked out pensively.

“No,” he said after a while.

“But why not?” Alex asked in surprise. He turned around and met her gaze.

“I can’t do this,” he said, shaking his head. “Vitali will find out where we got our information from.”

“How could he find out?” Frank protested.

“You must do this, Nick.” Alex made herself heard. “Frank’s right. You could free the city from this terrible corruption with a single blow.”

“No,” Nick repeated, “I can’t take responsibility for this.”

“But—”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Alex,” Nick interrupted her. “Too many people have died on Vitali’s orders. He tried to have me killed again today. If he finds out that you’ve given me this information, then he’ll also kill you. And that…no…I don’t want that to happen.”

He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.

“I may need to resign as mayor.”

Nelson van Mieren made himself comfortable in first class on the United flight from Chicago O’Hare to La Guardia. He had gone to Chicago for the weekend for business, but the talks went nowhere. He was frustrated that these three days had been nothing but wasted time. On top of that, he had missed his eldest grandson’s birthday party. While passengers boarded the airplane, Nelson opened the newspaper he had picked up in the departures lounge. One headline caught his eye immediately, and he froze when he caught sight of the drawing that was placed directly below the bold caption.

Nelson van Mieren turned pale. His heart was racing, and he realized that he was breaking into a cold sweat. The drawing of the alleged shooter—whom Nelson knew all too well—was alarmingly accurate. There was no doubt that this was Natale Torrinio, called “the Neapolitan.” Nelson closed his eyes. His heart was pounding in his head. He realized that Sergio had sent him to Chicago under false pretense so that he could take his time and set the Neapolitan on the mayor. Sergio had lied to him when he reassured him that he had nothing to do with the bombing of the mayor’s car. The realization that his oldest friend had lied to him was the most painful feeling Nelson had experienced in his life.

Sergio thought it was a bad joke when the butler from Mount Kisco called his office to say that Constanzia had left early in the morning by taxi—with four large suitcases and a few bags. She hadn’t announced where she was going. Although it didn’t fit into today’s schedule at all, he ordered his sons to go to Mount Kisco. Then he took his helicopter there to determine what had happened.

Sergio was in a murderously bad mood after his best man Natale had botched the job yesterday. There hadn’t been an opening to get to Kostidis for weeks. He’d been constantly surrounded by a line of bodyguards. It was Natale’s idea to kill him at the cemetery because he found out that Kostidis didn’t let his security follow him to his family’s grave. It seemed like an easy enough operation. He could generally rely one hundred percent on Natale, but this time he’d not only missed his mark but had also been seen. Sergio could have dealt with that, but Natale also claimed that he saw Alex together with Kostidis at the cemetery.

Sergio had unsuccessfully tried to call her at home and on her cell phone, so finally he sent his people over to her apartment. They confirmed that she wasn’t there. She only appeared again at six that evening. Someone with a blue Honda had dropped her off at home, and Sergio was close to going on a rampage when he heard about that.

Then he found a letter addressed to him on his desk in his Mount Kisco house. He tore it open impatiently and read the few lines Constanzia had written in her sweeping handwriting:

He stared at the letter in his hands silently. Fury consumed him. How dare Constanzia? She had packed her bags and disappeared like a thief in the night without even uttering a word. He crumpled the paper angrily and threw it away. Silvio and his sons stood in front of the desk with embarrassed faces while Sergio paced up and down the large room furiously.

“How could she do this?” he roared. “How dare she? Didn’t I give her everything that a woman dreams of? Didn’t I buy her everything she wanted? She has countless servants. Three cars!”

“Mama was very unhappy,” Domenico said carefully. “And after Cesare’s death—”

“Unhappy, ha!” Sergio cut him off. “She made him into what he was! A good-for-nothing, spoiled, and ungrateful brat! He was cowardly and dumb to boot!”

He felt like killing someone with his bare hands, which is why these three men who knew him well prudently remained silent.

“Domenico,” Sergio ordered, “bring all of the domestic workers here, right now. I want to know where she went. The last thing I can afford right now is the headline that my wife…”

He fell silent. He couldn’t bring himself to say his wife had left him out loud. How could Constanzia humiliate him like this? If he’d wanted to get divorced, then it was up to him to do so, but the fact that she’d run away was more than his vanity could take.

“I told you to get them!” he yelled at his younger son. “Pronto!”

Domenico shot him an upset look and disappeared.

“How could she do this to me?” Sergio continued his restless pacing like a predator in a cage. “How could she expose me like this?”

“But, Papa,” Massimo tried to argue, “she didn’t expose you at all. No one but us knows about this.”

“Soon everyone will know!” Sergio yelled. “Everyone will make fun of me!”

“Ahh, I don’t believe that.”

“Shut up!” Sergio snarled at his son. His face was pale with anger. “She makes me look like an idiot in front of my people. I’ll never forgive her for that! Sergio Vitali left by his wife! That’s unheard of!”

Sergio’s anger wasn’t really about his wife. What really made him furious was the fact that Alex had lied to him. She had told him that she was with the Downeys on Long Island. But instead, she’d snuck behind his back to see Kostidis!

“Silvio,” Sergio said after a while, calming down, “make sure that Constanzia comes back here. I don’t care how you do it. But if I read a single line about it in the newspaper, you’re fired! Capito?”

Silvio nodded calmly. He had gotten used to his boss’s temper tantrums years ago.

“Hold on!” There was a cruel smile on Sergio’s face.

“Call Luca. I have a special job for him.”

Silvio nodded and left the room.

“What’s your plan, Papa?” Massimo asked, concerned. “What will you do with Mama?”

“Nothing.” Sergio waved his hand dismissively and walked to the bar to pour himself a whiskey. “I just want her to return to this house.”

“What about this special job?”

“It has nothing to do with your mother.” He downed the whiskey in one gulp. That damn bitch Alex was about to really get to know him! First she’d pretended that she couldn’t wait to get married and live with him, and then she met secretly with his archenemy!

Alex looked around her now-empty apartment as she waited for the movers to arrive. Maybe it was naive of her to think that she could escape from Sergio, but at least she no longer owed him anything. Alex checked her watch and lit a cigarette. Her thoughts drifted back to last Sunday. She was deeply touched that Nick put her safety ahead of her information against Sergio. She had assumed that he’d do anything to avenge the murder of his wife and his son, but the bombing and the shooting at the cemetery had changed his mind. When he called her late Monday afternoon, they talked for nearly fifteen minutes. But he didn’t utter a single word about what Alex had told him on Sunday.

The doorbell rang right at that moment. Alex walked across her apartment, opened the door, and froze. Constanzia Vitali was standing in front of her.

“Excuse me for showing up unannounced,” Sergio’s wife said. “May I come in?”

“Umm…of course.” Alex was astonished and embarrassed at the same time. Had Sergio actually filed for divorce? Did his wife come here to make a scene? Constanzia Vitali stepped into the foyer.

Alex had only seen Sergio’s wife once before, and that was a year and a half ago. The woman had visibly aged since then. Deep wrinkles had settled into her face, and she had bags under her brown eyes. She couldn’t hide her unhappiness. She had lost her son, and Alex suspected Sergio did little to comfort his wife during this difficult time.

“You won’t be surprised to hear that I don’t want to see your husband anymore,” Alex said.

“You’re leaving him?” Constanzia raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“That’s my intention,” Alex replied.

“Well,” Constanzia said, smiling with wicked amusement, “then Sergio has been left by his wife and his lover on the same day. That’ll be a big blow for his ego and his pride.”

“You…left him?” Alex asked in disbelief.

“Yes.” Constanzia nodded and gave her a probing look.

Constanzia sat down in one of the rattan chairs and observed Alex, who was her absolute opposite in terms of appearance. She was silent for a while as she considered how to phrase her question.

“I have known Sergio since we were small children,” she began. “We grew up in Little Italy. Everyone knew everyone there. Ignazio Vitali sent Sergio to a boarding school when he was six years old, shortly after his brother Aldo was killed by a rival gang.”

Alex was astonished because Sergio told her that his brother died of an illness, but she wasn’t surprised to learn he had kept the truth from her.

“Sergio only returned to the city after his father’s death,” Constanzia continued. “Ignazio, who was the padrino of the Genovese family, was essentially executed because he was in the way. My father was his successor. I didn’t understand the intricacies of the power structure among the city’s families back then. I fell head over heels in love with Sergio when I saw him at a girlfriend’s wedding, and I could hardly believe it when we got married just a short time later. I was deaf and blind with love and didn’t listen to my father’s warnings. However, I realized very quickly that Sergio didn’t love me.”

Constanzia’s face hardened when she remembered the humiliation that Sergio had caused her.

“When I was pregnant my husband cheated on me with every cheap whore on Mulberry Street, but I didn’t say a word, just like any good Italian wife. Sergio was much too busy becoming rich and powerful to be interested in what I was doing. He married me for just one reason—because I was Carlo Gambino’s daughter.”

Constanzia looked inquiringly at Alex.

“You’re not surprised to hear that Sergio comes from one of the city’s most powerful Mafia families, are you?”

“He told me that his father was a known killer,” Alex replied hesitantly.

“Pah!” Constanzia exclaimed. “Ignazio Vitali wasn’t just a killer. He was the feared enforcer of Lucky Luciano and Dutch Schultz—both of whom he later shot, by the way. But this is old stuff. They’re all long dead. Sergio bought the house in Mount Kisco after he made his first millions. It was terrible for me to live so far away from my family and friends, but Sergio thought it would be beneath his dignity to keep living on Mulberry Street. He bought the apartment on Park Avenue and only came home to me every now and then. He’s always been an inconsiderate egomaniac, and our marriage was never worth more than the paper it was written on. Sergio always did what he wanted, and I knew from the very first day that he couldn’t resist a beautiful young woman.”

Alex blushed, but Constanzia didn’t seem to notice.

“As the years passed, our sons grew up and left the house. All of them, except Cesare.” Constanzia sighed heavily. “Sergio always despised Cesare. He was different from his brothers, weaker and not as intelligent. He was in trouble all the time, and I lived in constant fear of Sergio’s temper tantrums when Cesare got himself into hot water.”

She smiled sadly, and the tears shone in her big eyes.

“It happened on the day of Sergio’s birthday party last year, as you probably remember. Sergio threw Cesare out of the house, and he never came back. He called me every now and then, but I didn’t know where he lived or what he was doing. I was terribly worried about him. Whenever I tried to talk to Sergio about the boy, he got angry. A few days after the party, I heard that David Zuckerman had been shot. He and his wife were good friends with my eldest son and often came over to visit. I knew right away that Sergio was responsible for his death.”

Alex held her breath.

“Then came the day Sergio was shot. I wasn’t shocked when Massimo called to tell me that his father was injured. No, I wasn’t hysterical. I laughed. May God forgive me, but for a second I hoped that he was dead.”

She smiled briefly at her own ridiculousness, but quickly her expression turned grim.

“Cesare was arrested that very same night. When I learned that he was…dead, I almost lost it. I was sure that Sergio had something to do with his death. I accused him of it a few days later when he came home from the hospital. I screamed and said all kinds of hideous things to him. Everything that had accumulated inside of me over the years burst out, and I finally realized that it was the truth that I never wanted to see.”

Alex saw Constanzia’s tears, and she understood how this woman felt. Wasn’t she in a similar situation?

“On that day it became clear to me that I hated Sergio. I wished him dead. I decided to leave him right then, but I lacked the courage. Then I heard about the assassination attempt on the mayor that killed his wife and son. I know how much Sergio despises Mayor Kostidis. Even though he never talked to me about business, I witnessed enough in thirty years to put two and two together.” Constanzia shrugged her shoulders. “Sergio orders people who stand in his way killed. Ever since childhood, I’ve been used to people around me dying—but not from old age in their bed. My father was a Mafioso, just like my brothers and uncles, but my husband Sergio is the worst of them all—more brutal and ruthless than even Lucky Luciano or Al Capone ever were. He’s a criminal, and I know it. I’ve endured all of this for my boys through all these years. But now that Cesare is dead, I can’t go on like this anymore. All of the blood, violence, and death—it’s too much for my conscience.”

Alex felt as if a cold hand had grabbed her by the neck. All of the color vanished from her face.

“Sergio killed his own son?” she whispered, terrified.

“Yes,” Constanzia said, nodding, “not with his own hands, of course. He wouldn’t, because he has people for that. But I know he did. He was afraid that, under pressure in prison, Cesare would start talking. My son had to die for the same reason as David Zuckerman or the man at LMI who was supposedly run over.”

Alex swallowed frantically.

“Gilbert Shanahan?”

“Yes, I think that was his name. His wife told the truth. The poor woman would have been better off keeping her mouth shut. They put her into a psychiatric clinic, and now she’s wasting away in a padded cell.”

Alex’s mouth was dry as cotton. Once she took it all in, she was overcome with terror. Oliver was right. Gilbert Shanahan had been killed because he didn’t want to play the game anymore and tried to get out.

“Why are you telling me all this, Mrs. Vitali?” she whispered.

Constanzia looked at her.

“I came here to warn you and to ask you for something,” she said. “I overheard a conversation last Sunday evening. Natale Torrinio, one of the killers who works for Sergio, told him that he saw you at the cemetery with Mayor Kostidis.”

Alex tried to control her panic. Natale Torrinio—the man with the yellow eyes.

“Alex,” Constanzia said emphatically, “Sergio has caused enough grief and sorrow. I wish that I had the courage to stab a kitchen knife through his cold heart, but I’m too much of a coward for that. I want someone to put an end to his crimes. I want revenge for my dead son and for everything that this monster has done to me and my family.”

She leaned forward and grabbed Alex’s hand.

“I have an ally,” she said, lowering her voice, “but he and I won’t be able to do it on our own, although we could destroy Sergio with our knowledge. I need contact with someone who is powerful and fearless enough to support me with what I must do. I can’t simply go to the police or the US Attorney’s Office. Sergio would find out about it right away and have me silenced.”

She paused for a moment.

“Alex, you know the right people. You know the mayor. You can help me!”

Alex jumped up and desperately wrapped her arms around herself. Of all people, Constanzia Vitali had come to her for help! She felt miserable. If Sergio hadn’t even batted an eye at the murder of his own son, he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. What had she gotten herself into? And all of this because of her damned ambition, her arrogance, her insatiable drive to belong in high society. She was a gangster’s whore, just what Oliver had accused her of being. All her work, her education—everything had been in vain! At thirty-seven, when others were getting their careers in high gear, her future was already over. She’d never be safe from Sergio again. Fear sprang to her eyes, and she turned around to face Constanzia Vitali. And somehow the woman was looking at her, full of hope.

“I’m afraid that I can’t help you, Mrs. Vitali,” she said, struggling to keep her composure. She thought about Nick’s words. A few months ago, I would have been happy to hear that. Now I just don’t care anymore. That won’t bring my family back to life.

No, she wouldn’t be able to help either.

Constanzia stood up.

“I don’t mean to pressure you.” She rummaged around in her purse until she found what she was looking for. “This is my phone number. You can reach me at any time.”

Once Sergio’s wife left, Alex sank down to the ground, sobbing and burying her face in her hands. The bitter truth was that she had irrevocably botched her future. Her entire life was ruined.

Sergio stood silently in the penthouse apartment where Alex used to live. She had moved out. The closets were empty, the refrigerator was unplugged, and all of her books and CDs were gone. Sergio felt his insides contract as a wave of disappointment rolled through him; he couldn’t deny how skillfully she had deceived him. She had been acting for the past few days, and he—being somewhat serious with his marriage proposal—had let her lead him by his nose like a little boy. It was an ironic twist of fate that Alex had left him on the same day as Constanzia. He had been so close to trusting her, and now this! This rejection was too humiliating, and at the same time he was overcome with a feeling of emptiness that was foreign and threatening to him.

His first impulse was to call her, but then his reason took hold. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment. Alex hadn’t gone to the Downeys last Sunday. Natale was right: She had met that bastard Kostidis at the cemetery in Brooklyn. She was the one who saved him. Of all people, it was because of Alex that this miserable son of a bitch was still alive.

“What should we do now, boss?” Luca asked.

“Nothing,” said Sergio, unaffected on the surface. “Remove the microphones and cameras and renovate the apartment. And give me her passport. I’ll return it to her personally.”

He clenched his hands into fists. His disappointment had turned into cold rage.

It was eight fifteen when Frank Cohen entered his boss’s office. Nick Kostidis was behind his desk, staring at a framed picture of his deceased wife, as he had done so many times recently.

“I thought you left already,” Nick said.

“I revised the press release for the planned welfare reform again,” Frank replied, “and jotted down a couple of arguments that could be helpful for your meeting with Paul Inishan of the Coalition for the Homeless.”

“Ah, yes.” Nick removed his reading glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. “I’ll go over it tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, of course.”

“What’s on my schedule for tomorrow?”

“Paul Inishan at nine. Coalition for the Homeless complained about your planned work program. After that, the delegation from Oman from ten until about one. Then you have a meeting with Lucie McMillan of WCBS, who will accompany you to Fresh Kills, broadcast live. You have an appointment in Queens at three to see the new orphanage. Then, there’s the ceremony honoring those firefighters who rescued the kids from that burning house in Morningside Heights last August—at five.”

Frank looked at his boss. Nick appeared exhausted, but it was no wonder. Since his family’s funeral, he’d recklessly thrown himself into his work. He had one appointment after another, from early morning until late at night. Nick rushed through the city, escorted by the police and security guards, and some staff members started complaining that the mayor forgot some people had lives outside of work. Frank wondered how much longer Nick could sustain this tempo. He’d created set an inhuman pace, but there was no one to slow him down. Frank had a feeling that Nick was doing this to escape his loneliness and his thoughts. He seemed just like his old self on the outside. But whenever he found himself alone, he virtually collapsed. On more than one occasion, Frank had caught him staring aimlessly into space or at his wife’s picture.

“Have you thought about what Alex Sontheim told us?” Frank asked carefully.

“I can’t think of anything else,” Nick admitted. “Every day when I speak with these people, I realize how phony and devious they are. It may very well be that corruption has always been the order of the day in New York, but I just can’t believe that even the police commissioner and the US attorney let themselves be bought by a criminal like Vitali.”

“Maybe we can actually do something about it,” Frank said. “How much of this story is true in your opinion?”

“Probably all of it. Why should she make such things up?”

“Then we shouldn’t hesitate any longer. We could pass on that information to the US Attorney’s Office.” Frank sat down at the desk across from Nick. “You finally have the opportunity to hold Vitali accountable for everything he has done!”

“Frank, I’ve told you before,” Nick answered with unusual patience. “My family had to die because I chased after Vitali like a maniac. With his latest attempt, he made it very clear that he still intends to kill me. He’s dead serious. I won’t risk the life of the woman who saved me.”

“Alex Sontheim knows exactly what she’s doing. She gave you this information so you’d something with it.”

“Damn it!” Nick’s voice turned harsh. “I take sleeping pills every night so I can sleep for at least a few hours. I immerse myself in my work to distract myself from these terrible images. My heart is filled with anger and lust for revenge. How could I possibly burden my conscience with even more guilt? Do you think that Vitali would hesitate to kill Alex once he found out what she knows?”

“She was, or still is, his lover after all,” Frank replied. “Can we even be sure she was honest with us?”

Nick took a deep breath.

“I’ve considered that. But somehow I think she’s being honest. Why else would she come to meet me at the cemetery? Why would she risk her life to save mine? That shot could have easily hit her!”

“Maybe it’s all part of a plan so you believe exactly that.”

“You’re distrustful, Frank.”

“I’ve learned that from you, Nick.” Frank smiled mildly. “It was you who always questioned everything a hundred times before you believed it. And often enough you were right.”

“Yes,” Nick sighed bleakly, “I’ve always been proud of my knowledge of human nature, but it apparently leaves much to be desired. I never thought Ray capable of such betrayal.”

“We should talk to Alex again,” Frank suggested, “and ask her for documented evidence.”

“Yes, maybe.” Nick leaned back. Frank Cohen knew his boss well enough to know he didn’t want to delve into this any deeper. Before leaving, he turned around one more time.

“Oh, Nick?”

“What else is there?”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Nick smiled briefly, and then he nodded.

“I think I had a doughnut for breakfast. Go on, get out of here. Good night.”

“Good night, boss. See you tomorrow.”

Nick waited as his assistant closed the door behind him. Then he opened his desk drawer and took out an old issue of People. He flipped to the story about Alex Sontheim and stared at the large photograph of her. With a pensive smile on his face, he thought about that morning on Montauk Beach when he saw her galloping on that horse. He was suddenly sure that she had been honest with him.

On Tuesday afternoon, Alex had a meeting with Vincent Levy, Michael Friedman, and Hugh Weinberg. The three men were excited about the deal she was working on, in which LMI was to represent Whithers, the computer manufacturer from Texas, in its merger with Database Inc., earning a handsome fee for its services. The deal was as good as closed. The details would be ironed out over the next few weeks, followed by several meetings with the management teams from Whithers and Database.

Alex stared vacantly at her computer screen after she got back to her desk. She had spoken with Carter Ringwood at First Boston on the phone right before the meeting, and what she told him was a serious violation of securities law. If Levy found out what she had done, he wouldn’t just fire her, he’d sue her in court—and rightfully so. Alex had learned that First Boston represented Softland Corporation, a competitor of Whithers. Softland was just as interested in Database as Whithers was. She mentioned in passing how much her offer was worth. Alex sighed and rested her chin in her hand. The deal would blow up for sure because Ringwood would certainly use her information to the advantage of his client. Alex didn’t care. She was already planning to quit LMI this month and leave the city. She could go to Chicago, San Francisco, Europe, Asia. M&A specialists were in demand everywhere. Alex grinned bitterly as she thought about what was happening right now a few stories above her. Without a doubt, Levy was informing his managing director about the planned Whithers deal, and it was just as certain that Zack was building a position in Whithers stock. She expected that the imminent public announcement of the Database acquisition would catapult Whithers stock to new heights. What a pity for Zack if a white knight called Softland Corporation unexpectedly appeared out of nowhere on the merger battlefield! Alex’s thoughts were elsewhere when her phone buzzed.

“Hello, Alex. This is Nick.”

“Nick!” she exclaimed in surprise, her heart pounding. “How are you? I thought that something had happened because you didn’t call.”

“Oh no! I’m sorry. I’ve been very busy the past few days. I was also thinking about things.”

“Aha.”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Do you have time for dinner tonight?”

Alex swallowed. She had no plans.

“I’d love to,” she said. “When and where?”

“There’s a small Greek restaurant in an alley near the corner of Chambers Street and Hudson in Tribeca. It’s called Alexis Sorbas. It’s practically hidden. I’ll see you at nine?”

“I’ll find it,” Alex replied.

She hung up and chewed pensively on her lower lip. Had Nick changed his mind? His voice sounded almost as determined as before the tragedy, but Alex no longer felt the urge to convince him. He had won her deep respect after the vulnerability he’d shown her at the cemetery. Sergio wouldn’t hesitate a second if someone offered him information like this. He’d have precious little interest whether a life was put in danger, as long as he gained an advantage. Nick let go of his desire for revenge because he was worried about her safety. She found that simply incredible.

Someone knocked on the door, and Mark entered the room.

“I just received the quarterly results of Database,” he announced. “Do you want to take a look at them?”

“Later. Thanks.”

Mark put the folder on her desk. He was about to leave again when Alex asked him to stay.

“Sit down for a moment, please,” she said. Mark did as he was told. He had become a very good friend over the past few months.

“I’m going to meet Mayor Kostidis this evening,” she said.

“Aha.”

“Ever since our trip to Boston, I’ve been thinking,” Alex continued, not mentioning to Mark what she had already told the mayor. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I should tell him everything and give him the documents Justin printed out for us.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed, “but I can’t go on like this. I know enough about Vitali to be seriously frightened of him. This man is capable of anything.”

Suddenly, she had to fight her rising tears.

“Mark, I’m in deeper than you can imagine. This is no longer about right and wrong, or a betrayal of trust—it’s about my life!” She bit her lip. “If Vitali finds out what I know, I’m as good as dead! He had Gilbert Shanahan killed because he wanted to get out, too.”

“My God,” Mark whispered in terror, “did you tell Oliver?”

“He suspected it the whole time,” Alex replied in resignation. “He insinuated it when we first met at Battery Park. I should have believed him and left LMI.”

Her office, guarded by thick glass panels that muted any noise from the trading floor, was silent.

“I’m resigning,” Alex said. “That’s actually what I wanted to tell you. I want to thank you for all of your hard work, and especially for your loyalty. I could always trust you.”

“It was my pleasure.” A sad smile flitted across Mark’s face. “You’re definitely the best boss I’ve ever had. If you’re looking for an assistant at your new job, let me know.”

Alex attempted a smile, then she wondered whether she should tell Mark about her conversation with Carter Ringwood. He deserved to know the truth because he had worked as hard on the Whithers deal as she had. She pulled herself together and told him what she had done.

Mark didn’t seem shocked. “I hope you know what you’re doing. If this comes out, then you’re done.”

Alex nodded. “I’m not sure if I did the right thing.”

“You’re going to blow up the deal in order to pull one over on Vitali, Levy, and St. John, right?”

Alex nodded again. Then Mark leaned across the desk and grabbed her hand.

“No matter what happens, Alex, I’m on your side. I also think that I’ve spent enough time in this joint. Maybe I’ll quit, too.”

“Don’t make any rash decisions. I’m in deep trouble, but you’re not. You still have a future.”

“There probably won’t be any M&A department left.” He smiled and stood up. “I’ve somehow already gotten used to the idea.”

After he left her office, Alex closed her eyes and sighed. There was nothing left of her ambition, and she suddenly longed for an average life, with a small family, a nice house with a yard, and someone who loved her.

Alex left her apartment through one of the back exits. Her blonde hair was hidden under a baseball cap. She was wearing a worn-out leather jacket, blue jeans, and heavy Doc Martens. She was unrecognizable.

Alex walked past the Dumpsters in the courtyard and entered the neighboring building. She and Oliver had identified all of the possible escape routes when she moved in, and she used them to remain undetected by Sergio’s people. She had already noticed people waiting for her and tailing her from the LMI Building, and she recognized most of them. Perhaps Sergio hadn’t yet found out where she lived.

Alex turned onto the lively Greenwich Street with its row of restaurants. New businesses were opening on an almost daily basis ever since an affluent crowd discovered this part of the city. It was just before nine, and the sidewalks were still filled with people. Indian summer had been unusually warm this year, and the bars set their tables and chairs on the sidewalks.

Alex turned onto Chambers Street. In small side alley, she finally found the inconspicuous restaurant Nick had invited her to. She heard muted Greek folk music as she entered a large room. Its ceiling and walls were decorated with realistic-looking plastic vines, creating a pergola-like effect. Its many cheap replicas of famous statues, pictures of the Acropolis, and photographs of the blue Mediterranean Sea with dazzling white houses hinted at the owner’s homesickness.

Most of the tables were still empty, and the waiter led her to the corner. Alex ordered a glass of white wine. Shortly after nine, two men entered the restaurant—looking around and inspecting it suspiciously. Nick came in shortly thereafter. He smiled at Alex, but stopped to exchange a few words with the chef before walking over to her table.

“Good evening, Alex.”

“Hello, Nick.” She smiled somewhat nervously.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “I ordered two saganaki as appetizers and souvlaki after that.”

He winked at her, grinning slightly.

“It’s not exactly Le Cirque, but Konstantinos makes the city’s best souvlaki.”

“Whatever that is, I believe you.”

They looked at each other for a moment without saying a word. Alex noticed that Nick looked exhausted and that his face had become thinner. His hair was longer than usual, and a bluish five o’clock shadow covered his cheeks.

“Do you speak Greek?” she asked, just to make conversation.

“A little bit. My mother never learned to speak English properly. People in Greece would immediately identify me as a foreigner, but Konstantinos likes it when I speak Greek with him.”

“But you’re Catholic, right? I thought people in Greece are usually…”

“Greek Orthodox,” he said, nodding. “My parents weren’t religious. They didn’t care what I did. There was a young priest in our neighborhood who looked after the street kids—Father Kevin, you met him the other day. He gave me books to read and took me to church, where I became an altar boy. I think I liked Catholicism’s simple dogmatism of good and evil as a child, and that’s how I’ve felt ever since.”

Nick folded his hands and rested his chin on them. She looked at him closely for the first time. Alex noticed that his eyes weren’t black but rather a very dark brown. They were beautiful and expressive, filled with warmth and a hint of melancholy.

“I believe that there is a certain period in everyone’s life where their character is set for the rest of their days,” he said pensively. “For me it was the time when I discovered the world of education and faith through the Jesuit priest. Good and evil, black and white—that was my perspective of life for forty years. But now I see that this isn’t quite accurate. There are other colors as well.”

The waiter served them an appetizer of baked feta cheese, with tomatoes and cucumber. They clinked their wine glasses and ate in silence.

“Are things going well for you, Nick?” Alex asked after she had finished. A shadow flitted across his face, and he waited until the waiter had cleared the table.

“No,” he replied and sighed. “I’m not doing very well. I immerse myself in my work during the day, and sometimes I even manage not to think about Mary and Chris. But when I come home at night, it feels like I’m standing before an abyss. Mary had always been there—for thirty years.”

His gaze was empty and hollow-eyed. Alex suspected that something was gnawing at him somewhere deep inside; a wild cry waiting to erupt, just as it had at the cemetery.

“I often think about asking her opinion about this and that, and then I realize that she’s not there anymore. It’s terrible.”

Alex looked at him sympathetically. She really wanted to grab his hand and say something consoling, but she couldn’t—not here in public, with his bodyguards watching from the neighboring table.

“People treat me like a monster.” He shook his head in helpless desperation. “Most of the people who I thought were my friends have distanced themselves from me. No one dares to speak to me about Mary, and that’s why they don’t invite me out anymore. Maybe they’re afraid I might burst into tears at the table and embarrass them.”

“They’re not real friends then,” Alex replied. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed if you cried here and now.”

Nick looked at her, and for a moment she thought that he would actually break down.

“I know,” he said, his voice gruff, “and believe it or not, that’s a great comfort to me. It’s strange that even though we hardly know each other, I don’t feel the need to pretend when I’m with you.”

He took a sip of wine. They remained silent for a moment, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

“Are you really considering resigning?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Everything I do seems pointless now. But whenever I’m about to give up, I feel I have a great and important duty to perform on behalf of my constituents. I gave them my word, and they trust me. How can I just give up on everything?”

He smiled slightly.

“I have the bank statements for you,” Alex said abruptly. “I thought that was why you wanted to meet with me.”

The smile vanished from Nick’s face.

“You’re still suspicious,” he said, “and I can’t blame you for it. I admit that I actually tried to get information about Vitali from you last Christmas at the Downeys’. But then…”

Alex’s heart started pounding again when she felt his gaze. It was as penetrating as it had been at the Lands End House.

“Then I learned that you’re friends with the Downeys, and I thought that this woman couldn’t possibly be on Vitali’s side if she also spends her weekends with Trevor and Maddy.”

She turned and pulled the rolled-up printouts from her jacket. She had taken them from the bank safe-deposit box that afternoon. Nick stared blankly at the sheets, but then he put on his reading glasses, spread out the papers, and started to read with an expressionless face.

“Unbelievable,” he murmured after a while. “McIntyre…and here, Alan Milkwood from the Department of Buildings and Jerome Harding—those corrupt bastards.”

“Did anyone ever try to bribe you?”

“More than once,” Nick said, looking up, “over and over again. Not only with money. They also offered trades: a kindergarten in return for a building permit, a donation to the NYPD widows and orphans fund in return for dropping criminal charges. That’s how things go in New York City.”

He sighed.

“I’ve always resisted. It’s difficult; at times the temptation is strong. The city has no money to build new schools, and who really cares whether a skyscraper turns out to be three stories taller if hundreds of kids in Harlem or the Bronx enjoy a state-of-the-art kindergarten in return? I’ve stood in my own way many times.”

“Can you use these bank statements for something?” Alex wanted to know.

“If they’re real, then definitely.” Nick smiled grimly and looked at the next page. “I would have been ecstatic if I had gotten my hands on something like this during my days as a US attorney. This is more than just the tip of the iceberg—this is the whole conspiracy.”

“Why don’t you pass it on to the US Attorney’s Office?”

“Alex!” He put the papers down and looked at her seriously. “This is pure dynamite! This is more than just a few headlines in the newspaper. These names and numbers will shake this city’s power structure to the core, and none of these people will simply put up with being accused of corruption. There will be extensive legal proceedings, libel actions, allegations, possibly even deaths. I’ve seen it happen before: in the seventies and eighties with the Mafia, and with Wall Street after that.”

He stared at the stack of papers, shuffled them nervously, and then looked up again.

“Believe me. I know how this goes, how much work is involved, how often the accused manage to squirm their way out with the help of their clever lawyers.”

“But a US attorney, a judge, or even a governor is finished when the public finds out he’s corrupt, right?”

“Yes, that’s true,” Nick admitted, “but do you know what power-hungry people are capable of when they realize they’ve been cornered?”

The waiter served the entrées, and Nick fell silent. They waited until the food was laid out.

“I’m not interested in all those people.” Alex lowered her voice. “This is about Vitali.”

“Because of personal vengeance or hurt vanity?”

“No! This man kills people who stand in his way. I know it! With my own ears, I heard someone tell him that David Zuckerman had been silenced.”

Nick looked at her pensively; then he put his cutlery down.

“Okay,” he said in a sober voice, “let me explain to you how this would work. I hand this material over to the US Attorney’s Office or the FBI. They investigate and possibly conclude that there’s something to it. Vitali is arrested, but thanks to his connections, he’s most likely released on bail. If charges are actually brought against him, then you’d be the main witness for the prosecution.”

Alex swallowed nervously.

“This would not be the first time we thought we had enough evidence to take down Vitali. But our witnesses always failed us. Some of them lost their memory overnight, and others disappeared without a trace. Sometimes they were found again in a landfill or floating in the river. Vitali is merciless. Would you want to live with a new identity somewhere in the Midwest for the rest of your life, constantly in fear that one day they’ll find you?”

He shook his head.

“In the past, I would have done anything to get to Vitali. Today, I doubt whether something could be right if it costs a person’s life.”

Alex licked her dry lips.

“What would you do in my position, Nick?” she whispered. “I can’t go on like this. I’m scared of him, but I still want him to be brought to justice.”

Nick stared at her.

“You’re very brave. And intelligent. I admire that about you.”

“No I’m not. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have fallen for Vitali.”

“Many other women would fall for him, too,” Nick said. “He’s good looking, charming, and incredibly rich.”

“Oh yes,” she said and laughed bitterly. “He reserved the entire Crows Nest at the Water Club for one evening—the whole staff, and a band.”

“Did you love him?”

Alex hesitated, surprised by this very personal question.

“No,” she said slowly, “it wasn’t love. I was impressed and flattered that such a powerful, famous man was courting me. I aspired to become one of the city’s famous and powerful people, and I thought that I could accomplish that through him. How could I have known that I was only a small cog in the wheel of his dirty business?”

“Are you still in contact with him?”

“Do you mean, do I still sleep with him?”

“No.” Nick blushed slightly. “I…I didn’t mean it that way.”

“He asked me to marry him the last time I saw him.” Alex’s face hardened. “Most likely because he’s afraid he won’t be able to bring in those lucrative deals anymore. I moved out of the apartment he rented to me. A friend signed a new lease for me in his name, and since then, I have been afraid that Vitali will find out where I live. I change trains three times in the subway and sneak out of the building through the back. He knows that I was with you at the cemetery. The man who tried to shoot you recognized me.”

Nick looked alarmed. “Did he tell you that?”

“His wife came over to my place to warn me,” she replied. “She left him because she’s convinced that Vitali ordered the death of his own son.”

“Vitali’s wife came to you?” Nick asked in disbelief.

“Yes. She hates him and wants revenge. And she’d like to talk to you, Nick.”

“You’re in great danger, Alex.”

“I know. But he won’t touch me as long as I’m coordinating his dirty business. But once he no longer needs me…” She fell silent.

“I can arrange personal security for you,” Nick offered. “Where do you live now?”

“On Reade Street. Just around the corner.” Alex ate a bite from her already cold kabob, although her stomach felt sealed shut. “Personal protection is unnecessary; I work at a company that he largely owns.”

When the waiter came to clear the table, Nick had hardly eaten anything. He handled a piece of bread, lost in thought.

“Do you know why I don’t want to pass on this information?” he asked in a throaty voice. “I’m afraid that Vitali will hurt you.”

On their way out, they saw that the restaurant had filled up since their arrival. The four bodyguards were waiting for them at the street corner.

“Isn’t it better if I have someone drive you home?” Nick asked, and Alex detected true concern in his eyes.

“No, it’s okay. It’s so close.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s better if I use my secret paths.”

“I’m worried about you, Alex.”

“I’m really in hot water, aren’t I?”

Nick looked at her with a grave expression.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

She dug both her hands into her jacket pockets. “Would you pass the information against Vitali on to the US Attorney’s Office if I quit my job and leave the city?”

“Is that what you’re planning to do?”

“I hardly have a choice.” Alex felt a painful lump in her throat. She was more aware of the hopelessness of her situation than ever before.

“Maybe you’re right,” Nick said and sighed. “I toyed with the idea of packing it all in myself. No one could blame you for it. Who the hell cares.”

Still standing outside the restaurant, they gazed at each other under the lantern’s dim light.

“I have to go,” she said. “Thank you, Nick, for the lovely evening.”

Nick extended his hand and she took it. Alex remembered how she had held him in her arms as he cried, and she fervently wished that she could stay with him a little longer. She didn’t care who he was, although it would have been much easier if he hadn’t been—of all people—the mayor of New York.

Alex let go of his hand, but he didn’t seem ready to leave either. Then she impulsively flung her arms around him and nestled her face against his rough cheek. They remained in a comforting embrace for a brief moment until another customer came out of the restaurant.

“Take care of yourself, Alex,” Nick whispered gruffly. She nodded silently and then turned around and disappeared with quick steps.

Wednesday, December 1, 2000

Vincent Levy’s face was grim as he hung up the phone. LMI’s board was anxiously awaiting their president’s explanation of just what had interrupted their extraordinary meeting on this rainy December afternoon. Levy looked around the group, and then he walked over to the large window. Everything seemed to shift in the hazy air. The Verrazano Bridge was just visible in the distance, and even the Statue of Liberty seemed farther away than usual. There was complete silence in the room as Levy turned around.

“Gentlemen,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’ve just learned that the acquisition of Database Inc. by Whithers Computers is off. Database has agreed to a friendly takeover by Softland Corporation. First Boston made the cut. We’re out.”

Everyone in the room was speechless as they stared at the president. The deal, worth almost two billion dollars—one of the biggest ever in the technology sector—seemed signed, sealed, and delivered long ago. The M&A department had been working on little else for weeks. St. John finally broke his board colleagues’ numb silence.

“That stupid bitch screwed it up!” he yelled. He banged his fist on the table with such force that the glasses and bottles rattled. “I could wring her neck!”

“What do you mean, Zack?” Hugh Weinberg asked in surprise.

“Just like I said!” Zack’s face turned bright red, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “This was a surefire deal, but she was too stupid to seal it!”

“Zack, I beg your pardon!” Levy interrupted. “You can’t blame Alex for the Database shareholders’ decision.”

“What the hell!” Zack jumped up and laughed derisively. “You’re all blind because she closed a few good transactions! But she just screwed up the year’s biggest deal in the technology sector!”

“That’s not true!” Michael Friedman objected. “She did the best she could. She made a solid offer. Database stock was to be acquired for forty dollars a share—”

“I don’t give a shit how good that damned offer was.” Zack cut him off harshly. “It wasn’t good enough. Why are we paying her all of this money if she can’t even keep an eye on the market properly?”

“That’s not fair, Zack,” John Kwai said. “Alex has closed a lot of good deals for us. We can’t condemn her just because one of them goes sour!”

“Come with me, Zack.” Levy threw an imploring look at his managing director. He was the only one who knew why Zack was overreacting like this. Since Alex had told them about the planned deal, MPM had established a large position in Whithers shares—causing their stock price to skyrocket accordingly. Levy guided the incensed man to an adjacent office and closed the door.

“We’re ruined, Vince!” Zack exclaimed in agitation. “Jack and I bought a shitload of Whithers stock for thirty-eight a share, fucking hell! We’ll never get rid of them at this price!”

“Calm down, Zack,” Levy said in a conciliatory tone. “We can handle a loss of a few dollars per share.”

“No, we can’t!” Sweat was running down Zack’s face. “I invested a fucking hundred million dollars!”

“Excuse me?” Levy went pale. “Are you crazy?”

“It was a sure thing! According to Weinberg’s forecast, the stock would have gone up thirty points after the announcement of the takeover.”

Zack’s body shook. His face flashed red and paled again.

“I financed the hundred million through LMI.”

“You’re joking.” Levy couldn’t believe his ears. “How could you do such a thing? We talked about buying for ten million, maybe fifteen—but one hundred million…That can’t be true!”

“I’m not joking, damn it!” Zack roared at him. “Fucking hell, I still can’t believe it!”

“We have to get rid of these shares immediately,” Levy said, struggling to stay calm. “Call our broker on the West Coast. The exchange is still open there. Tell him to sell at any price!”

Zack didn’t hesitate. While Zack was on the phone, Levy paced, looking panicked.

“Whithers is trading down to thirty-one at the Pacific Stock Exchange and thirty and seven-eighths on the OTC market,” Zack said in a sepulchral tone. “Koons will try to sell as much as possible, but it doesn’t look good.”

Levy shook his head with a sense of helplessness. Because of Zack’s greed, they were sitting on a pile of devalued stock that was on its way to hitting rock bottom.

“I have to talk to Vitali,” Levy murmured. “This is a catastrophe.”

“This is more than a catastrophe,” Zack said grimly as he dialed another number. “MPM is ruined.”

“How could you do this without discussing it with me in advance?”

Real horror scenarios played back like a film in Levy’s mind’s eye. He saw himself at the center of an SEC investigation, his name in the headlines, his firm on the brink of bankruptcy.

“Don’t freak out!” Zack snarled at him. “Maybe there’s a way to get us out of this mess unscathed.”

“What do you mean?”

“As of now, no one knows about the Database shareholders’ decision. I know a few people who would be thankful for a tip. I could sell the Whithers stock to them.”

“No!” Levy said sharply. “Under no circumstances will you do that! No employee of LMI will pass on insider information with one hundred million dollars on the line. If that got out, we’d be ruined. No one would do business with us again.”

Levy left the room and rushed into his office to call Vitali.

It was seven thirty when Sergio Vitali entered Levy’s office.

“What’s going on here?” The look on Zack and Levy’s frozen faces soured his mood. Zack had four telephones in front of him, and an ashtray overflowed next to them.

“The Whithers deal is off,” Levy said gloomily.

“So what?” Sergio looked back and forth between the two men.

“We were sure that the deal was sealed, so Zack bought one hundred million dollars’ worth of Whithers through MPM. The share price has already fallen thirteen dollars since news broke that Database is merging with Softland Corporation. The hundred million was financed by LMI. We’re done.”

Zack turned around. His face was pale, and his voice sounded strained.

“I just managed to sell another hundred and fifty thousand shares at thirty-one dollars, but that was it.”

“If Whithers opens below thirty dollars tomorrow, we’re ruined,” Levy said. “That will certainly happen. I even think they’ll halt trading in Whithers altogether. Not a single soul will want to buy Whithers stock.”

“How could this happen?” Sergio asked. He suddenly fully understood the consequences.

“That dumb bitch screwed it up,” Zack said.

“Who is he talking about?” Sergio looked at Levy.

“Alex Sontheim,” Levy replied, “but it’s not her fault. She prepared a good offer. Everything went well and the lawyers agreed, but then this white knight appeared and made a better offer. That’s business, it happens. It was unfortunate that Zack bought so much of it.”

“This is the second time in a very short time span.” Sergio turned toward Zack. “What was that other deal?”

Zack threw him an angry look.

“Syncrotron.” He clenched his teeth in anger.

“What can we do now?” Sergio asked. “It’s pointless to sit around and wait for the exchange to open in the morning.”

“There’s nothing more we can do.” Levy poured himself a double shot of whiskey. “We’re sitting on a pile of shares that no one will take off our hands. MPM needs to liquidate its position tomorrow and raise a hundred million dollars. LMI is financially solid, but we can’t write off such a large sum just like that.”

“Tell Lang to sell other shares…of something…what do I know!” Sergio suggested.

“We already considered all the scenarios.” Levy shook his head. “Even if MPM liquidates all of its assets, we have a maximum of fifty million. MPM will be in violation of capital requirements tomorrow morning, and therefore insolvent.”

“And what does that mean?” Sergio asked in irritation. “Can you please explain it to me in plain English?”

“It means,” Levy said in an annoyed voice, “that MPM is bankrupt.”

“Never has a company of mine gone bankrupt!” Sergio said, struggling to keep his voice down. “Get Alex here immediately, and also Friedman, Weinberg, and Fitzgerald.”

“We can’t do that,” Levy reminded him, “because they don’t know that MPM belongs to us. They didn’t understand why Zack was freaking out. For them it’s just a lucrative deal that slipped through our fingers.”

Sergio sat down and began deliberating feverishly. If that was the case, then it would inevitably become public who was behind MPM and SeaStarFriends. His name would be tied to a bankrupt company in all the newspapers. And not only that: if the press caught wind of the fact that he and Levy—as the president and a board member of LMI—were involved in insider trading through their own brokerage firm, they would be ruined. It would have unforeseeable consequences for all of his businesses. Sergio knew how sensitively his business partners reacted to negative headlines. If he were charged with serious violations of securities law, it would even be worse. He needed to prevent this at all costs.

Suddenly, he had an idea. If SeaStarFriends—which was the owner of MPM—didn’t belong to him and Levy but rather to someone else, then it was possible their names would never come into play.

“I’ll be in my office,” Zack said with a sullen expression and walked toward the door. “I’ll try to make something happen in Europe or Asia.”

“Good,” Levy replied, “but stay in the building. I might need you later on.”

“Sure, Vince.” Zack put out his cigarette and shuffled out. Sergio waited until he left.

“Vince,” he said slowly, “is it possible to change the owners of a partnership?”

“Officially no,” Levy replied, “but maybe…”

He understood, and a hopeful smile flitted across his face. He snapped out of his lethargy and quickly dialed a telephone number.

“Monaghan?” he said after a while, and his voice sounded as businesslike as usual. “This is Vincent Levy speaking. Could you please come to my office immediately?”

“What can Monaghan do?” Sergio asked.

“He’ll be able to tell us whether his people can change the MPM registration,” Levy replied and smiled. “Because if that’s possible, then we can let MPM go bankrupt without worrying.”

The smile vanished from his face, and he rubbed his neck pensively.

“Now,” Levy said, biting his lower lip, “someone needs to be the new owner.”

“Yes, of course.” Sergio grinned coldly. “That someone is Zack.”

Vincent Levy nodded slowly.

“We need to get rid of him,” Sergio said. “He’s lost his nerve.”

“But he knows too much!” Levy said. “He knows the names, the accounts, and—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Sergio said. “You take care of changing MPM’s ownership and removing SeaStarFriends from the commercial registry. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Vincent Levy nodded. Without a doubt, this was the best solution. They would shift all the blame on Zack and come out of this mess clean. Sergio walked to the other side of the room and called Silvio Bacchiocchi.

“Take your two best men and come to LMI,” he ordered, adding quietly, “I have a job for you. Bring an unregistered gun.”

Henry Monaghan was at the door. Levy quickly explained to him what had to be done. LMI’s head of security listened impassively and then glanced at his watch.

“I’ll see what I can do. We can get into the commercial registry’s central computer and make a change. But if any registration certificates are filed, we’re out of luck.”

“So be it,” Sergio interjected. “If there’s an investigation they’ll look at the current printout instead of older documents.”

“Good point,” Monaghan said with a nod. “I’ll work on it.”

“Whew.” Vincent Levy loosened his tie. “This could have blown up in our faces. I can’t understand how Zack could do such a thing.”

“I can,” Sergio countered. “He wanted to make up for his recent mistake. And he’s envious of Alex’s success.”

“I have the same impression,” Levy said. “The jealousy of a spurned lover.”

Sergio turned around quickly. “What did you just say?”

“If I understood St. John correctly, there was something going on between them some time ago.” Levy poured himself another whiskey. “They were colleagues at Franklin Myers, after all.”

Blood rushed into Sergio’s face. He banged his fist on the table with such ferocity that Levy winced. How could he be so stupid? Alex and St. John!

“You didn’t know that?” Levy asked in surprise.

“No,” Sergio growled, “and I don’t care.”

His cell phone vibrated again, and he felt like throwing it against the wall. It was Luca.

“Boss,” he said, “we’re cleaning up the penthouse apartment.”

“Why should I care? You want me to tell you where the vacuum cleaner is?”

“We found something,” Luca continued unfazed, “under the TV. It’s a computer printout of a bank statement.”

“A bank statement?”

“It’s a statement in the name of Levy & Villiers, dated July of this year,” Luca said, “and the name of the account holder is Bruce Wellington.”

Sergio froze. His nerves tingled. Bruce Wellington was the chairman of the city council and one of the more important people on his bribery payroll. How did his bank statement end up in Alex’s apartment? No one had statements from these secret accounts. Not even he or Levy had seen them. He hadn’t needed them in order to remind his “friends” that they owed him a favor. These highly confidential statements had never left the bank building.

“I want to see them,” Sergio said in a gruff tone. “Come here immediately.”

He hung up the phone and stared silently into space. St. John was the only one who could get to these statements. Were he and Alex secretly in cahoots together, and only pretending to hate each other?

“What’s the matter?” Levy asked. After solving the MPM problem and drinking some whiskey, he was in a good mood again.

“Alex Sontheim,” Sergio said without looking at him, “had bank statements from Levy & Villiers in her apartment.”

“That can’t be true!” Levy turned pale. “Not more bad news!”

“Maybe the two of them were working together,” murmured Sergio. He frantically tried to put everything together, but he simply didn’t get it. Alex had been in touch with Kostidis. The statement that Luca found was dated July. Had Alex already informed that bastard of a mayor in the meantime? No, that was impossible! Kostidis would never keep such a thing to himself.

“Pour me a whiskey!” Sergio said, and Levy handed him a glass. Sergio flushed in anger when he noticed that his hands were shaking.

It was shortly after eleven when St. John entered Levy’s office. His pale face looked extremely frustrated.

“I managed to sell some more stock,” he announced, letting himself fall into an armchair, “but that was it.”

“MPM will go bankrupt tomorrow,” Levy said.

“Yes, it looks like it,” Zack replied grimly. “Nothing will happen, right?”

“No.” Sergio stood up. He had himself under control after three double whiskeys, even though wild rage was boiling inside of him like a volcano.

“Nothing will happen. A brief investigation, some arrests…two, three years in prison—that’s all you’ll get.”

“What?” Zack stared at him in disbelief. “What do I have to do with this?”

“Oh,” Sergio said with a sardonic smile, “we just checked in our computer and discovered that you and Alex Sontheim are the owners of a small but mighty investment firm called MPM.”

Zack sat up.

“That’s a bad joke,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Not at all,” Sergio said, “but we won’t forget about you, Zack, if you act prudently and keep your mouth shut. Once the commotion blows over, you’ll receive a tidy sum. Early retirement at forty—that’s a great thing.”

“No,” Zack whispered as he slowly realized what was going on. Vitali and Levy wanted to ditch him and blame him for everything. He didn’t give a damn about Alex.

“Pull yourself together, Zack. What difference can two years make anyway?”

“No!” Zachary St. John jumped to his feet. Helpless, furious, he stared at both men with bloodshot eyes. “If I do that, then I’m done on Wall Street. And this is all because of the bullshit you talked me into!”

“You’ve also made a pretty penny,” Levy noted coolly.

“You used me!” Zack shouted. “This is just a game for you, a damn chess game! And now you want to sacrifice a pawn to save the king!”

He laughed shrilly.

“That’s quite a plan you came up with! But not for me!”

“Have you seen this before, Zack?” Sergio showed him the piece of paper that Luca had found in Alex’s apartment. Zack glanced at it briefly and then shrugged his shoulders.

“No, I haven’t,” he answered.

“We found this in Alex Sontheim’s apartment.”

Hatred flared in Zack’s eyes.

“Alex,” he said, grinding his teeth angrily, “that miserable bitch.”

“Can you explain how she got her hands on a bank statement from Levy & Villiers?”

“No, I can’t,” Zack snapped. “I’ve got nothing to do with her. That backstabbing snake fucked me over! Ever since she arrived, I’ve played the fool!”

“You’re not in league with her behind our backs by chance?”

This question bewildered Zack even further.

“Never in a million years!” he exclaimed. “I hate that woman!”

“Okay.” Sergio folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

Zack sank down in the chair and buried his face in his hands. “No one will ever talk to me again,” he said despondently. “They’ll all point their fingers at me and whisper to each other when they see me. I’ll be a pariah.”

“Stop pitying yourself!” Levy snarled at him. “You put us in this situation in the first place!”

“No!” Zack roared. “She provoked me to do it! And you left me high and dry! Now you want me to put my neck on the line so that you can keep your names out of this! But I won’t accept it!”

“Think about it,” Sergio said with an almost pitying smile. “It’s not the end of the world. You’ll forget all of this when you’re under a palm tree somewhere in the Caribbean with a beautiful girl in your arms, contemplating how long you’ll have to live to spend all your money.”

Zack stared at him silently and was about to respond, but then he changed his mind and shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay,” he mumbled quietly. “Okay. Okay.”

He turned around and left the office. Sergio stepped to the window and stared out into the night. What kind of game was Alex playing? He believed St. John when he said he wasn’t collaborating with her. His hatred was genuine. Alex must have gotten her hands on those secret bank statements some other way. How could he have underestimated her so? Chaos reigned in Sergio’s head. Had he mentioned something to her himself? Different possibilities presented themselves, only to quickly fall apart again.

He turned to Levy. “Can you check whether any bank statements have been accessed in Georgetown?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ll have to ask Monaghan.”

“Do that. Call him.” Sergio sat down again.

When Levy reached his head of security, he turned on the speakerphone so Sergio could listen to the conversation.

“The commercial registry has been changed,” Monaghan said. “The new owners are Mr. Zachary George St. John and Ms.—”

“Okay, okay,” Levy cut him off, and explained the next looming catastrophe. “Henry, is it possible to get into a computer from the outside to print out bank statements?”

“Theoretically, yes,” LMI’s head of security said pensively. “A clever hacker could access the server, but we’d notice such an intrusion. We put very strict security systems in place.”

“Could you find out whether someone hacked into the server at Levy & Villiers on July 6?”

“I can try,” Monaghan answered.

After the conversation ended, Sergio fell into a deep brooding silence. He had found a clean solution for St. John’s screw-up. He wasn’t worried about that anymore. It was far more important to find out how much Alex actually knew. He had to speak to her immediately. He knew that she had met that dumb journalist just two weeks ago. A cruel smile played on Sergio’s lips. He knew Skerritt’s address and decided that it was time to pay the man a visit.

Oliver winced when his cell phone rang and answered the call immediately.

“Hey, buddy,” Justin said, “I found out a few things. It looks like the shit has hit the fan on Wall Street.”

Alex leaned forward. She, Oliver, and Mark had called Justin and asked for information about MPM’s activities in Whithers stock. For two hours, they’d been waiting for his call back at the Italian trattoria across from Oliver’s apartment building. The three of them had deliberated all evening over how to proceed. Oliver handed his phone to Alex.

“MPM bought 2.6 million shares of Whithers Computers over the past six weeks,” Justin said, “at an average price of thirty-eight dollars a share.”

Alex quickly estimated the sum in her head. She had assumed that Zack would buy ten million dollars of stock, but it seemed that he’d bought ten times that amount.

“Just like you said,” Justin continued, “the deal is off and Whithers stock has crashed over the last few hours. It closed at twenty-nine and a quarter, which means that MPM has lost thirty million so far. It looks like it’ll be much more.”

Oliver and Mark looked at Alex expectantly.

“No one will touch Whithers tomorrow,” Alex said slowly. “The stock crashed and MPM must regain its position in the morning. They won’t be able to get it done. There’s no way that they’ll get a hundred million together.”

“Which means what?”

“MPM is bankrupt. There’ll be an SEC investigation. And they’ll find out who’s behind MPM.”

“Levy and Vitali…”

“Exactly,” Alex said. “I can’t imagine that they’ll risk it. Levy will go to jail for ten years.”

“What could they do to prevent that?”

“Not much.” Alex pondered his question. “Maybe change the owners.”

Suddenly, she sensed something disastrous brewing behind her back. Zack would blame her alone for the Whithers deal blowing up. Sergio wasn’t on her side. It was two to one against her at the very least. Because no one knew yet how much she had found out, their best solution was to pin all the blame on her. Then she would be in for insider trading—big time.

“I’ll check it out,” Justin said and hung up. Alex briefly reported to Mark and Oliver what Justin had told her. While the two of them discussed the news, Alex was thinking intensely. Then she sat upright.

“I need to talk to Zack immediately,” she said.

“But why?” Mark asked. “He hates you like the plague since the Syncrotron deal.”

“I don’t care how much of an asshole he is,” Alex said as she stood up. “The pressure’s on him too. I had no idea he would buy that much stock.”

“Okay,” Oliver said, “but you won’t go alone. We’ll come with you.”

Mark signaled for the waiter and paid, and then they left the restaurant.

“Let me get my wallet. I left it in my apartment,” Oliver said.

While Oliver went inside, Alex and Mark waited at the building’s entrance.

“Zack will be absolutely furious,” Mark said. “I’m not sure that it’s a good idea to speak with him. What are you trying to get out of it?”

“Damn it, Mark, I thought that he’d lose five or ten million, but a hundred million is—” The sentence caught in Alex’s throat as she watched a black limousine drive up the street.

“What is it?” Mark asked.

“Come inside, quick!” Alex pulled him into the hallway.

The limousine stopped directly in front of the building.

“What’s wrong?” Mark didn’t understand what was going on, but he followed her up the stairs. They ran into Oliver in front of his apartment.

“Sergio is here!” Alex exclaimed. Oliver immediately opened the door, and they sought refuge inside the apartment. Seconds later, the doorbell started buzzing like crazy. The three of them looked helplessly at one another.

“Police, open the door!” they heard a voice shout, and then someone banged a fist on the door. “Open the door or we’ll break it down!”

“Shit,” Mark whispered, scared. “What are we going to do?”

Alex was sobered by the fear.

“He’s coming after me,” she whispered. “Can I get out of here somehow?”

“You can get onto the roof of the adjacent warehouse from the balcony,” Oliver said nervously, “but it’s at least ten feet down.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’ll kill me if he finds me here. And you too.”

Mark turned as white as a ghost. The banging on the door grew louder. Alex ran into the living room and tore open the balcony door.

“Alex,” Oliver hissed. He grabbed her arm as she raised her leg over the balcony railing. “You can’t…Alex!”

“I have no choice,” she replied. “I don’t want to get you into trouble. Take care of yourselves. I’ll be in touch!”

Before Oliver could say another word, she jumped ten feet from the balustrade down onto the warehouse roof and disappeared in the darkness like a shadow.

Sergio stood in the hallway outside Oliver Skerritt’s door, his hands deep in the pockets of his cashmere coat. He was dead certain that Alex was sitting next to this guy right behind the door. He even thought he could smell her. Armando and Freddy looked at their boss and waited for his orders.

“Break down the door!” Sergio ordered. “I want to get into this damned apartment.”

Then the door opened. A dark-haired man with glasses looked at them, displeased. Sergio recognized his face from the countless photos that his people had taken of him and Alex. He even knew what he looked like during sex. He used all his might to repress his fury, pushing past him into the loft before Oliver could say a word. Although it was fairly large, it was could fit into a single salon of Sergio’s Park Avenue apartment.

“Hey!” The journalist ran after him. “What the hell is going on here? Why are you invading my apartment? Who are you?”

“Where is she?” Sergio looked everywhere, even the bathroom. He shoved Oliver, who looked terrified. He encountered Mark in the living room and ignored him. Then Sergio tore open the bedroom door expecting to find Alex in bed with wide-open, frightened eyes. The blood rushed in his ears. He’d beaten her down to the point that she couldn’t let herself be seen in public for three weeks. But the bed was empty. Sergio charged into the room, pulled open the closet doors, and even got down on his knees to look under the bed. There was no trace of her. Did he get it all wrong?

“Where are you, you little whore?” He angrily ground his teeth and walked back to the living room. There, his men watched in silence as Sergio grabbed Oliver by his hair.

“Where the hell is she?”

“Who are you looking for anyway?” Oliver wheezed.

“Alex Sontheim.” The urge to kill shone in Sergio’s eyes.

“Why would she be here?”

“Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?” His anger exploded inside of him, and he rammed his fist into Oliver’s face; he felt a cruel sense of satisfaction when Oliver’s glasses cracked and the blood splattered from his nose.

“Alex hasn’t been here in months,” Oliver mumbled. “I don’t know where she is.”

Sergio stared at him for a few seconds. “If you are lying to me,” he hissed, “you’re dead!”

Just minutes later, the nightmare was over and Oliver and Mark found themselves locked in the windowless bathroom. Oliver sat down on the edge of the bathtub, breathing heavily, and Mark let himself slide onto the floor. His whole body shook in fear. He had always been horrified by any kind of physical violence.

“What kind of an animal is this guy,” he muttered. Oliver’s cell phone rang again. He rummaged through his jacket pocket until he found it.

“I checked the commercial registry,” Justin shouted. “You remember that a company was the owner of MPM, this SeaStar thing, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Oliver nodded and grimaced because his nose hurt like hell. “We printed out the certificates.”

“But now MPM is listed as owned by Alex and Zachary St. John.”

“Holy shit.” Oliver rubbed his sore wrists, trying to take in what this meant.

Alex really was in grave danger—and she had no idea.

Alex’s heart pounded furiously against her ribs as she darted toward Sixth Avenue under the protection of the building walls. A police siren was howling somewhere, but the street was deserted. She managed to finally hail a cab at West Houston Street.

“Battery Park City,” she said to the taxi driver, leaning back in relief when the young Puerto Rican hit the pedal. She hoped that Sergio wouldn’t harm Oliver and Mark. Her thoughts were racing as the cab drove south through nighttime Manhattan. She still couldn’t believe that Zack had been so foolish as to buy so many shares. Even if the deal had gone through, it would have triggered the SEC’s curiosity. But then it occurred to her that Sergio also had SEC officials and NYSE board members on his bribery payroll. It was likely nothing would have happened.

Fifteen minutes later, Alex reached Zack’s building. She asked the cab driver to wait and walked in, but the doorman said Zach was away. She climbed back into the taxi and told the driver to take her to the financial district. Maybe Zack was still in his office. Alex frowned. She wasn’t quite sure what to tell him, but she no matter what it couldn’t wait. Tomorrow morning, they’d throw her and Zack to the wolves. Maybe she could convince Zack that it was time to take action together against Levy and Sergio. It was clear in her mind that neither of them would shy away from sacrificing her.

She got out of the cab at Broadway and Wall Street then walked the rest of the way to the LMI Building. The main entrance was closed at this time of night, and she hesitated to use her badge to get in. She knew that every swipe of the card was registered in the central computer. She glanced quickly at her watch. It was just after two thirty in the morning, and she couldn’t wait any longer. She opened the door to the delivery entrance with her badge, and then stopped when she spotted the night porter strolling toward the restrooms. Alex snuck into the lobby and reached the open door to the stairwell. She couldn’t take the elevator because it would have instantly alarmed the security guards. She prided herself on being in good shape, but she still needed to stop and catch her breath on the tenth and fourteenth floors.

Alex trembled with anxiety as she opened the fire door leading to the executive offices. Zack’s office was the fourth on the left. A narrow strip of light escaped through a crack in the door. He was actually still here. Alex took a deep breath and then knocked at the door. When she entered the office, what she saw in the dim light of the desk lamp made her blood freeze. She wanted to run away, screaming her head off, but she stood there petrified. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Damn it,” Oliver cursed, “she’s not answering!”

It was the tenth time he reached Alex’s voice mail.

“We’ve got to do something,” he said as he rubbed his sore arm. Where could he find Alex to inform her about the outrageous information Justin had just delivered? MPM would be bankrupt tomorrow. The press would jump on it as soon as they learned that LMI’s managing director and head of M&A were jointly running a company making millions through insider trading. Alex was done for, even if it could eventually be proven in court that she had nothing to do with MPM. Her reputation on Wall Street would be ruined once and for all. Oliver’s first—and hopefully last—personal encounter with Sergio Vitali confirmed everything that he had unearthed about him over the years. He shuddered again at the memory of the ice-cold look in his blue eyes.

“We’ll never get this door open,” Mark said despondently. Oliver rummaged around in the drawers of the bathroom cabinet for any object he could use to unscrew the door’s hinges. He didn’t care if he broke something. He needed to warn Alex. Immediately.

Zack sat dead in the chair behind his desk. This was without a doubt the worst sight Alex had ever seen. Half his face was missing, and his remaining eye was wide open and seemed to look at her reproachfully. The blood running from his mouth had already congealed, and he held a gun in his left hand that hung down limply. Both the wall behind him and the light-colored carpet were splattered with blood.

Alex’s knees were as soft as butter, and her stomach lurched. She had triggered a catastrophe by tipping off Ringwood. She had just wanted to pull one over on Zack, Levy, and Sergio, but now she was responsible for Zack’s death! Sure the deal was as good as sealed, he had bought Whithers stock. When he heard that the deal was off, it seemed he saw no way out besides suicide. Alex fought her rising panic, overcame her disgust and horror, and looked around his desk—which, to her surprise, had been cleared out. The glass tabletop, which was usually covered in yellow post-it notes, was spick-and-span. Zack hadn’t left a suicide note, and Alex noticed that the briefcase he always carried around with him was nowhere to be found.

Then her gaze fell on the computer. There was a yellow light blinking, indicating that something was downloading. She forced herself not to look at the corpse, leaning over him to move the mouse. The computer started to rumble, and the cloudy sky desktop wallpaper appeared seconds later. Alex held her breath. A rotating E at the upper right corner of the screen indicated that there were unread e-mails on the server. She clicked on the icon to have a look.

The computer showed four unread messages. She quickly opened the e-mails and read through them. One was from a broker in San Francisco, one from a lawyer’s office in Los Angeles, and two from travel agencies in New York. Alex printed all of the messages so that she could read them later. Then she checked his outbox and sent folders.

“Bingo,” she murmured. Zack had written three e-mails tonight, but he only sent one of them. She opened the first e-mail, which was addressed to Ken Matsumo at the California Savings & Loan Bank in Los Angeles. Her eyes grew ever larger when she read what Zack had written.

“Unbelievable,” Alex whispered in amazement. That certainly didn’t sound like Zack had any plans of putting a bullet through his head. Did he suspect what Levy and Sergio were up to, and therefore embezzled fifty million dollars into his account at California Savings & Loan? He was certainly trying to make a run for it with this money. Clever boy! Sergio and Levy had clearly overestimated Zack’s loyalty.

The second e-mail was in French, addressed to Cécile d’Aubray in Geneva.

Zack wanted to leave the country and go to Geneva—with fifty million dollars in his luggage. Not too shabby. A third e-mail was addressed to a lawyer named John Sturgess in LA, asking him to forward a drafted document immediately to the US Attorney’s Office in New York, as discussed. Alex printed all the e-mails. Swissair had confirmed two flights for Mr. John Fallino and Ms. Cécile d’Aubray to Geneva, and there was also confirmation of an Air Canada flight to Vancouver for Zachary St. John.

Zack’s third unread message was by far the most interesting. The lawyer, John Sturgess, had sent him a three-page document in which Zack confessed to all of the illegal deals that he administered on behalf of Levy and Vitali, including the dates and amounts of transfers. This document directly threatened those who wanted to sacrifice him.

Alex slowly put two and two together and it all became clear as day. A chill ran down her spine when she realized what it meant. There was no way that Zack had committed suicide. Someone making such elaborate plans for his future wouldn’t put a .38 to his head and pull the trigger. Zack was planning to disappear in a few hours with fifty million dollars. Leaving behind a hundred million dollar debt and a ruined investment firm and wreaking havoc by sending his written confession to the US attorney.

But someone had spoiled his plan—someone with no interest in the value of a human life. Alex didn’t doubt for a second that Sergio had gotten rid of this dangerous accomplice, disguising the act as a suicide. It was a clever ploy; it seemed quite reasonable that someone in Zack’s situation would prefer death over prison.

Alex suddenly remembered that she was standing next to a dead body. With shaking hands, she collected the pages spewed out by the printer. On impulse, she deleted all the e-mails and emptied the trash. Her heart pounded frantically. If Sergio found out what she knew, she was as dead as Zack.

As Alex turned around, she knocked the swivel chair in which Zack’s corpse was dangling. The pages slipped out of her hands, and when she bent over to pick them up, her hand brushed against an object. She knelt down on the blood-splattered floor and grabbed a cell phone. She snuck it inside her jacket and left the office as quickly as possible. She’d nearly reached the fire door when she heard the elevator swoosh up. The red light next to the elevator door lit up. Someone was coming up! Alex looked around in utter panic and then opened the door to the ladies’ bathroom and slipped inside. Through a small crack in the door, she watched someone coming out of the elevator. She thought her heart would stop beating when she saw Sergio and Henry Monaghan.

“The computer’s on,” Henry Monaghan observed.

“My guys probably forgot to turn it off,” Sergio replied.

“Yes, apparently they did. But the screen is turned on and the printer is still warm.” Monaghan shook his head. “It can’t be more than fifteen minutes since someone used it. Otherwise the screensaver would have come up or the computer would have switched into sleep mode.”

With a stony expression, Sergio watched this stocky man with a bushy moustache move the mouse back and forth while staring grimly at the screen.

“This someone has deleted all of the e-mails,” he announced after a while. “There’s nothing left.”

A message on St. John’s answering machine explained why the two men would risk being surprised alongside Zack’s body at four in the morning. A lawyer by the name of John Sturgess had left a message saying that he’d recorded his statements and sent them to Zack’s office via e-mail. Maybe it was important, maybe not. The phone call from California had come in at ten thirty, right after Sergio had informed Zack that he and Alex were the new owners of MPM. Zack had died at around a quarter past eleven, and no one knew what he’d been doing in his office for these forty-five minutes. The word statements sounded dangerous to Monaghan, and Sergio completely agreed with him. Did Zack call the lawyer to tell him about the dilemma he was in? And now it seemed as if someone else had intercepted John Sturgess’s e-mail. Monaghan turned off the computer.

“We’ll know in a second who was here,” he said. “We just need to look at the surveillance tapes. Maybe this person is still in the building, and we can get to him before there’s even more damage.”

Alex crouched on the floor of the women’s restroom, her back against the tiles and hardly daring to breathe. Sergio and Monaghan clearly weren’t surprised by the sight of Zack. She felt sick when she realized how much danger she was in. The two of them had been in Zack’s office for about five minutes, when they went back out to the hallway. Alex heard the elevator coming up.

“Luca,” she heard Sergio say, “wait for my call. Search every room. It’s possible that the person we’re looking for is still here.”

Alex froze. How could she get out of the building without being discovered? She crawled into one of the stalls, locked the door, and cowered on the toilet seat. There was no escape. Sergio’s guys would find her, and she would be as dead as a doornail. A wave of panic rushed over her, and she wished for the thousandth time that she had never met Sergio Vitali.

The image on the screen was grainy at first, but then the thirtieth floor hallway—from the elevators to the reception desk—became clearly visible. Sergio stared at the screen. He was furious that he hadn’t heard from Nelson for more than four days. Ever since Sergio had returned from Chicago, Nelson seemed different. And now he got the impression that his wife was making excuses for him on the telephone. He knew that Nelson was seriously ill, but he realized that he could no longer trust his oldest comrade-in-arms. And that’s why he’d told Silvio to send two men to Long Island to keep an eye on him.

Furthermore, Sergio was angry that he couldn’t find Constanzia. And to make matters worse, he had to deal with this nonsense with St. John and the possibility that Alex knew about the secret accounts! Sacrificing MPM didn’t bother him. They could incorporate a new company tomorrow morning to carry on with their business. They would easily find a suitable replacement for St. John. Alex was the problem. He worried that he’d demeaned himself, invading the journalist’s apartment in the middle of the night like a jealous lover. He hated her for making him look like a fool. Sergio chewed pensively on his lower lip. Why was all of this happening now, of all times? He had an important meeting tomorrow morning, and he’d been planning to fly to Costa Rica on Friday to meet with Ortega. His charity event at the St. Regis for the Saturday before Christmas was just three weeks away. He would have loved to call the whole thing off, but canceling the party would only result in negative publicity.

Alex peeked into the hallway through the narrow crack. One of Sergio’s guys was searching the offices, but Luca di Varese was standing directly in front of the door, languidly smoking a cigarette. They called out to each other every now and then, but Alex couldn’t understand a word. It hadn’t occurred to them to look in the bathrooms yet, but they would certainly do so very soon. Alex forced herself to think. Sergio and Monaghan suspected that someone was still in the building, but they didn’t know where—and that was her lucky break. She folded the printouts and put them into the waistband of her jeans. She needed to get out of the bathroom somehow without anyone noticing. She scanned the room, and realized in desperation that there was no escape route. It wasn’t hard to guess what Sergio would do to her once he captured her.

“Three minutes past eleven,” Henry Monaghan said quietly. They watched three men walk along the hallway and disappear into St. John’s office. The men came out carrying several bags about twenty minutes later. They had taken everything in the desk as ordered, but they had apparently neglected to check the computer. Sergio and Levy could be seen walking toward the elevator just before midnight. The time of the next recording was 3:16. Sergio and Monaghan stared at the screen spellbound when a person with a baseball cap and a dark hooded sweatshirt stepped from the staircase into the hallway and looked around.

“Alex,” Sergio said in a hushed voice and automatically clenched his hands into fists. His own words sounded like derisive laughter in his ears. Don’t worry. I have Alex under control. Alex knew about the secret accounts, and she was in possession of those damned e-mails from St. John’s computer. She was one step ahead of him, and she might take everything to Kostidis if he didn’t get to her in time.

“She was in his office for seventeen minutes.” Monaghan lit a cigarette and exhaled the blue smoke. “We must have missed her by just a few seconds.”

He stared at the screen. Alex stopped, looked around, and then turned left.

“Hey,” Monaghan said with a grin, “she’s still here!”

Sergio reached for his cell phone.

“I’m going to kill her,” he said flatly, dialing Luca’s number. “I’m going to kill that whore with my own hands.”

Henry Monaghan flung open the door to the women’s restroom and flipped the light switch. The room was immediately drenched in bright fluorescent light. Luca di Varese and the other guy walked past him and searched each of the eight stalls while Sergio waited in the hallway. One of the doors was locked, and Monaghan bent down to look beneath it. The stall was empty. His gaze wandered upward, and he was furious. Alex Sontheim had led them by the nose like fools! She’d climbed up the stall wall and lifted a panel in the ceiling. It was fairly easy for a somewhat fit person to crawl to a different room through the heating and ventilation shafts. It was pointless to send someone after her. She had probably escaped to a different floor. Monaghan turned around and walked out.

“Nothing?” Sergio asked.

“She escaped through the ceiling. But we’ll get her.”

“How?” Sergio’s eyes were as cold as ice. “It’s almost four thirty! I don’t feel like being seen with a corpse.”

Monaghan chewed angrily on his cigar, but then broke into a grin.

“It would be best for you to go home now,” he said. “I have a perfect solution to our problem.”

“And what would that would be?”

“I’m going to call the police now,” Monaghan countered in a good mood. “I’ll cut the surveillance tape and—voilà—we have evidence that Sontheim shot St. John between 3:16 and 3:36.”

Sergio stared at the stocky man, and then he nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s a great idea. In addition to my guys, the cops will also be after her. No one will care about MPM’s bankruptcy in all of the confusion. But I want to get to her first, you understand?”

The NYPD received a phone call at 6:14 a.m. A dead body had been found at investment firm LMI. Just a few minutes later, the first patrol cars arrived at the scene. By six forty-five, the entire building was buzzing with police officers and detectives. They examined Zachary St. John’s disfigured corpse and watched the surveillance tape that showed Alex entering St. John’s office at 3:16 a.m. and leaving it again twenty minutes later.

“Do you have any idea who this woman could be?” Detective Munroe asked the company’s head of security.

“I’m not sure,” Monaghan replied and scratched his head, “but she reminds me of Alex Sontheim, the head of our M&A department.”

John Munroe jotted something on his notepad. He was tall, red-faced, and had thick, reddish-blond hair. He had been working in the NYPD’s homicide department for fourteen years and had seen his share of corpses. At first glance, it looked like suicide, as the man on the top floor had the weapon in his hand. But could that woman have shot him and put the gun on him to make it look like a suicide? Vincent Levy, LMI’s president, arrived in the meantime. He was shocked, but composed, and he easily identified the person on tape.

“Yes,” he said, his bewilderment and horror genuine, “that’s her. Alex Sontheim.”

“Was it common for Mr. St. John to spend time at his office late at night?” the detective asked.

“Yes, that’s not unusual,” Levy confirmed. “We had some trouble with an important deal yesterday. It must have kept him late in his office.”

The officer grabbed the telephone. He told his people to search for Alex Sontheim, that she was the main suspect, and then he turned to Monaghan.

“Do you have a picture of this woman?” he asked.

“I’ll get you one,” Monaghan replied, “and Detective, you should search the building. It’s possible that she’s still inside.”

Munroe shot him an unfriendly look.

“You could have told me that right away,” he snarled, rushing out to his colleagues.

“No, I couldn’t have,” Henry Monaghan muttered. Vitali had left no doubt that he wanted to get his hands on Alex before the police could question her.

Alex was surprised to see the police. Every corridor and hallway was swarming with them, along with LMI’s security staff. Escape seemed impossible. She cowered in a heating shaft above an office, still on the thirtieth floor, and waited for an opportunity to get out. Her cell phone battery was dead, and she had no way of contacting Oliver or Mark. She was frightened, exhausted, and hungry, but she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. It was seven thirty already, which meant that she had been crawling around these dusty shafts for almost three hours. Alex kept feeling her way forward until she suddenly heard voices beneath her. She carefully moved one of the panels half an inch and peeked inside an office through the crack. Her heart jumped when she caught sight of Vincent Levy.

“I don’t understand anything anymore! What’s going on here?”

“We caught Sontheim on our surveillance tape,” another man said, who was not visible to Alex. That must be Henry Monaghan’s voice.

“She was in St. John’s office and retrieved e-mails from his computer that possibly contain questionable information.”

They certainly do, Alex thought.

“Are you sure that Alex killed St. John?” Levy asked.

“I have no idea,” Monaghan replied, “but if the police believe it, then they’ll do anything to catch her. Vitali wants to get his hands on her first. We need to wait for the cops to leave, and then we’ll find her.”

Alex felt her throat constricting in fear. She was trapped. She might get out of here, but only to run straight into the arms of Sergio’s henchmen.

“Oh my God, this is terrible,” Levy whined below her. “The damage to LMI is incalculable! A dead body in my firm and a manager as a murderer.”

“There’s no need to panic,” Monaghan said harshly. “I have everything under control. Schedule a meeting at nine o’clock for all of the employees on the trading floor and tell them that St. John has been shot at his desk—most likely by Sontheim.”

“Ahh, how awful, how awful.”

“Pull yourself together,” Monaghan growled. “Nothing will happen to you! The story’s great, and the press will jump on it. St. John and Sontheim were in it together and executed insider trades through their small company, MPM. Then they fell out of favor with one another when they bit off more than they could chew with their last deal. As a result, Sontheim kills her partner in crime.”

Alex could hardly believe her ears. She and Zack in cahoots?

“The police will interrogate me,” Levy whimpered, and Alex wondered how she could ever have felt respect for this man. His spinelessness and his cowardice were shocking.

“Of course,” Monaghan impatiently cut him off, “you’ll tell them that, after serious contemplation, you already suspected that they were involved in some secret side deals together. After the deal blew up yesterday, they were sure to be discovered. They got into an argument, and then she killed him. That sounds great.”

Alex felt compelled to agree with them. It certainly sounded plausible. She and St. John as accomplices, insider trading, millions lost, a fight, and one dead. They’d charge her with murder, as well as insider trading, fraud, embezzlement, and several other crimes. Levy and Vitali were clean, in any case.

“We need to go,” Monaghan said.

“What about the bank statements?” Levy asked. “Did you find anything?”

“My people in Georgetown are working on it,” Monaghan replied.

Alex waited until the two men had left Levy’s office, pushed a ceiling panel aside, and then slid down gently. She would be done for if anyone saw her trying to escape the building. She wouldn’t survive a single day in prison—just like Cesare Vitali. It was shortly before eight. She grabbed the telephone determinedly and dialed Mark’s extension. He must be at work by this hour. With trembling hands, she waited, and she almost hung up right before he answered.

“Mark!” she whispered.

“Alex,” he answered, sounding relieved, “where are you? We’ve been trying to reach you all night long. We even went to LMI, but I couldn’t open the door with my badge. There’s a rumor going around that you shot Zack!”

“None of it is true,” she said. “Listen to me, Mark!”

She quickly recounted what had happened and what she had just witnessed.

“They want to pin this murder on me to cover everything up,” she whispered quickly, “and they know I have evidence that could ruin them.”

“They registered you and Zack as the owners of MPM,” Mark reported. “Justin found out about it. Where are you?”

“I’m still on the thirtieth floor. I have to get out and see Kostidis.” Alex hoped that the mayor would believe her, but she wasn’t sure.

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” Alex replied after thinking a minute. “Get up, leave your desk as is, and get out of the building immediately.”

“But—”

“Mark, do as I say, please,” Alex whispered. “I’ll get out of here somehow.”

“Okay.” Mark hesitated. “Should Oliver and I pick you up somewhere?”

Alex bit her lip. As appealing it seemed to get some help, it would be irresponsible to drag Oliver or Mark even deeper into this mess. This situation was no longer clear to her.

“No, absolutely not,” she said quickly. “I’ll get it done by myself.”

“Alex, please, let us help you!”

“No.” She remained steadfast. “Get up and get out of the office. Right now. I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”

Alex hung up. She hoped that it wasn’t too late already for Mark. She closed her eyes for a moment and sorted her thoughts. She and Zack were the owners of MPM. Zack had liquidated all of the MPM holdings last night and wired fifty million dollars to his private account. Alex opened her eyes, and her gaze fell on Levy’s computer screen. She suddenly had an idea. With a grim smile, she sat down at his desk and pulled the keyboard and the mouse closer. She would make sure that Sergio and Levy had plenty more to be angry about.

“Mr. Ashton?”

Mark still had the telephone receiver in his hand when two men stepped up to his desk. His heart stopped for a moment. “Detective John Munroe, NYPD,” the taller one said, holding his police badge in Mark’s face, “and this is my colleague, Detective Connolly. We have a few questions that we’d like to ask you.”

Mark’s heartbeat went back to normal when he realized that these men were police officers and not Vitali’s bloodhounds. He sensed his colleagues’ curious looks behind him. All of the chatter in the large, open office—solely about last night’s incidents—fell silent.

“You work closely with Ms. Sontheim, is that correct?” the red-haired detective continued. “When did you last speak to her?”

“I… umm…” Mark’s thoughts were racing. “I think it was yesterday afternoon.”

Unprepared as he was, he gave the first response that came to mind. He didn’t even know why he lied to the police. He was a lousy liar.

“Are you sure?” the red-haired detective asked suspiciously.

“I… I don’t remember exactly anymore,” Mark stammered. “I’m totally confused.”

“Maybe we should continue this conversation at the precinct,” Detective Munroe said.

“If you like,” Mark started to say, but he fell silent when he saw two men heading toward him. He recognized Henry Monaghan, the fat security head at LMI, but he had never seen the other man before. Something inside of him told him that these two men were dangerous and that he would be much safer at the precinct.

“Hello, Mr. Ashton,” Monaghan greeted him; the look in his small piggish eyes anything but friendly. “Mr. Levy would like to talk to you for a second.”

Mark began to mumble. “I… umm… the detective has…” He shook with fear and secretly prayed that the detectives would take him with them. But nothing of the sort happened.

“I’ll bring him back in a second,” Monaghan reassured the two detectives with a congenial smile as false as his teeth. “It won’t take very long. You can interview Ms. Sontheim’s other employees in the meantime.”

Munroe considered this for a moment, and then he shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said, “but quickly. I don’t have much time.”

Mark felt a layer of sweat forming on his forehead. His first impulse was to run off screaming for help.

“Come with me, Ashton,” Monaghan said, and Mark stood up stiffly. He left the office flanked by Monaghan and the other man, followed by many curious eyes. Right after the elevator door closed, all the friendliness in Monaghan’s face disappeared and his expression turned threatening.

“We’re going down?” Mark asked.

“Imagine that, fat boy,” Monaghan growled. “Levy doesn’t want to speak to you. But I need to know a few things.”

As the elevator whooshed down to the lower basement, a thousand thoughts raced through Mark’s head. Where was Alex? Had they caught her? All he felt right now was pure, naked fear. The men led him into a small, empty room. The ceiling’s fluorescent lights radiated an uncomfortable glow, and it was unbearably hot. Monaghan closed the thick steel door behind him. Then he turned around quickly and grabbed Mark by his tie.

“Where’s Sontheim?” he hissed.

“I…I don’t know,” Mark whispered.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” the dark-haired man with the acne scars wanted to know.

“Yesterday. I haven’t seen her today.”

“Enough with these lies,” Monaghan cut him off harshly. “You tried to enter the building with your badge at 3:57 this morning. Sontheim entered the building just shortly before that. Her badge has access rights and yours doesn’t. What did you want here this morning? You knew that Sontheim was here, didn’t you?”

Mark remained silent. He felt sick.

“Come on, fatso,” Monaghan said, clenching his teeth impatiently, “or should I jog your memory a little?”

He was boiling with fury because precious time was wasting that he would rather spend on finding the woman.

“I get claustrophobic in small rooms,” Mark whispered with a dry mouth. “I can’t think straight.”

“Hurry up then.” Monaghan’s voice was cold as ice. “If you tell us what we want to know, we’ll let you go back to your desk.”

“I really don’t know where Alex is,” Mark mumbled. A punch hit him in the stomach. He stumbled, and his glasses fell to the ground. Desperate, increasingly fearful, Mark groped around the cold tiles. Monaghan seized him by the collar again and slammed his head against the wall several times. Mark felt his nose break and tasted blood.

“Open your trap!” Monaghan hissed. Mark was terrified. Alex had told him that these people wouldn’t waste time getting serious. He had already experienced Sergio Vitali in action yesterday. His goons had killed St. John. They didn’t care whether he lived or died. A few more punches pushed him past his limit.

“She just called me,” he whispered. “She’s still in the building. But she wants to go to Kostidis…”

“There you go,” Monaghan said, letting go of him. “What were you waiting for?”

Mark felt more miserable than he ever had in his life. He had betrayed Alex to the enemy because he was frightened for himself. He was a wretched, spineless coward.

“Will you let me go now?” he asked pleadingly.

“Do I look like an idiot?” Monahan’s voice was full of sarcasm. “You stay here until we find that woman. Pray that we find her quickly. Otherwise, this might turn out to be an extended stay for you.”

The heavy steel door closed behind the two men, and Mark heard the key turn. He sank to the ground and broke out in tears. If they caught Alex, it would be his fault. How could he be so easily intimidated?

The hallway was deserted as Alex stepped out of Levy’s office. She couldn’t wait any longer. LMI security and the police were searching the entire building, and it was just a matter of time until they found her. She quickly dashed across the hall a few yards to the staircase and was relieved to find the door unlocked. She rushed down the stairs as quickly as possible, praying that no one would see her. She was completely out of breath when she reached the ground floor, but its glass door was locked. Alex stopped for a split second and glanced into the large lobby, which was buzzing with activity. Suddenly, she was standing face-to-face with a security guard, with just a glass panel separating them. He raised his walkie-talkie, and Alex turned on her heel. She rushed down the stairs to the basement and threw herself against a heavy metal door that led into the underground parking garage. Then she crouched down and ran along the parked cars.

Alex’s heart was racing, and sweat poured down her face; she approached a rolling gate that was just opening at that second. She pressed her back against the wall. A silver-colored limousine rolled past her, just a few inches away. She started to run without a moment’s hesitation, darting beneath the rolling gate as it came down, and dashing up the ramp to the street. The rain drenched through her clothes instantly, but at least she had managed to escape the building. There were police cars everywhere, lights flashing, and a crowd of people surrounding them just a few yards away at the main entrance. She saw a coroner’s van approach. No one noticed her as she turned around and walked quickly along Wall Street toward Broadway.

“You’re drinking whiskey again,” Sergio remarked disapprovingly when he entered Levy’s office. “Stop that!”

On the spur of the moment, he had decided to cancel the interview he had scheduled. Although Monaghan was right in suggesting he stay out of this matter, his brilliant plan had one major flaw: Alex was still on the run, and she was a significant risk. Sergio didn’t appear one second too soon. He realized on arrival that Levy was quite obviously falling apart.

“That’s easy for you to say!” Levy flared up. “The scene here is complete chaos! The building is filled with police, and on top of it, SEC agents and the US Attorney’s Office arrested Jack Lang.”

“I know.” Sergio shrugged his shoulders. “I called Tarrance myself.”

“You did what? Have you lost your mind?” Levy—whose face was as white as a sheet to begin with—turned even whiter.

“It’s better to tip them off so they don’t have to snoop around everywhere,” Sergio countered. “It’s more important for us to catch Alex.”

Levy’s eyes looked like they’d pop out of his head. He emptied his glass, but his hands were still trembling. He had just told LMI’s employees about Zack’s murder as they assembled on the trading floor, and their emotional reaction unsettled him. After all, he didn’t know what was really going on. But Sergio looked the same as usual. His facial expression revealed no emotion. Someone knocked at the door, and Levy flinched.

Luca di Varese entered the room.

“We’ve just grilled one of Alex’s employees,” he said. “He claimed that she’s still in the building and wants to go to the mayor.”

“Send your guys to city hall right away,” Sergio quickly decided. “Put two men at each entrance and put a few patrol cars in the area.”

Luca nodded and left again.

“We have to find her before she causes more damage,” Sergio said in a sinister tone.

“The damage is already done,” Levy countered gloomily. “How could Zack be so stupid?”

“He was getting too brazen anyway.” Sergio waved his hand dismissively. “We’ve got to organize this whole thing differently in the future.”

“There’s no future!” Levy said sharply. “Zack is dead, and Alex…”

She will be dead soon too, Sergio thought grimly. He would get her sooner or later. His men were at city hall. They were listening to the police radio to find out if the cops had caught her. There was no escape for Alex. Sergio’s anger grew by the hour, and she’d pay dearly for it. The telephone rang, and it was Monaghan.

“My guy from Georgetown just called,” he said. “He checked the computer systems of LMI and all its subsidiaries. Some confidential files were in fact accessed on July 6. However, it didn’t come through as a hacker because that person had access rights.”

He paused briefly.

“What does that mean?” Levy asked impatiently.

“Whoever accessed these files has the authority to do so or somehow got authorization. However, the system at Levy & Villiers recorded unusually high activity on that day, which indicates that a program was used to hack the password.”

“Zack,” Sergio muttered, “that little bastard.”

“These files were accessed a total of fourteen times from an external computer.”

“Fourteen times?” Levy swallowed.

“The last time was last night at nine thirty.”

“Great.” Sergio exchanged a glance with Levy.

“Who could this possibly be?” Levy was at a loss. “Only three people have universal access rights: Monaghan, Fox, and me. You can exclude me because I have no idea about this stuff.”

“I don’t have a clue either,” Sergio said, “but didn’t Monaghan mention something about an external computer? My layman’s mind thinks that maybe it was neither Fox nor Monaghan but someone from the outside. I vaguely remember you telling me how secure this computer system is.”

“And I remember you told me that you have Sontheim under control,” LMI’s president countered. Sergio stared at him angrily: 1-0, Levy.

Nick Kostidis was in a meeting with representatives from the health department when Frank Cohen came in. His usually calm face was strained as he signaled his boss to step outside.

“What’s the matter?” he asked at the door.

“You should take a look at this,” Frank replied. “They’re reporting on TV about the murder of an investment banker. They say that Alex Sontheim shot the man in his office last night.”

“She did what?” Nick asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Frank nodded, “she’s on the run. The police and FBI are looking for her.”

Nick turned around without saying a word. Frank followed him to his office and turned on the TV.

“Security officers found Zachary St. John, managing director of the investment firm Levy Manhattan Investments, shot dead at his desk,” a female reporter announced, standing in front of a high-rise on Wall Street. The yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the wind behind her, and several police cars were parked in front of the entrance.

“A police spokesperson disclosed that the head of the mergers and acquisitions department, Alex Sontheim, is the main suspect in St. John’s murder and has disappeared. There are rumors that St. John and Sontheim illegally acquired millions of dollars through insider trading conducted through a front organization. Following yesterday’s failed takeover of Database Inc. by Whithers Computers, which was handled by Sontheim, this front organization is said to be close to bankruptcy. I’m Moira Roberts with NBC News.”

“That can’t be,” Nick murmured in disbelief. “No, she didn’t shoot anyone. I don’t believe it. She wasn’t involved in any illegal business. Otherwise she wouldn’t have—”

He paused and then walked to a small safe behind his desk. He opened it and took out the papers that Alex had given him that evening at Alexis Sorbas. He paged quickly through the statements until he found the one that he was looking for.

“What’s this?” Frank asked curiously.

“Statements from a bank on the Cayman Islands,” Nick replied. “Alex gave them to me a few weeks ago.”

“You never even told me.” Frank threw his boss a hurt look.

“Here,” he said, handing one of the pages to Frank, “Zachary St. John, code name Goldfinger. I’m pretty sure that he was involved in dirty business.”

“What if Alex Sontheim was involved?”

“Then why would she point it out to me?” He handed the whole stack of papers to Frank. “Here, look at all these names. Look—John de Lancie, and over here Paul McIntyre…”

Frank shook his head, reading it out loud.

“I don’t understand this whole thing. Why did she disappear if she’s got nothing to do with the murder?”

Nick took a deep breath. He shrugged his shoulders.

Alex walked briskly up Broadway. Everyone on the street was focused on getting to their destination quickly in this stormy weather, so no one paid attention to the woman wearing a baseball hat and jeans. After what had happened last night, she had no other choice but to leave the city straight away. She had no time to go to her apartment to get clean clothes or her car. If she could get Zack’s e-mails she’d retrieved from his computer to Nick, then he would believe her. It took her about fifteen minutes to walk to city hall; she didn’t dare to hail a cab. She was completely soaked as she crossed Park Row and entered City Hall Park. The feeling of relief made her knees weak. Only a few hundred yards and she would be safe. She turned on the path leading to the main entrance of city hall and had almost reached the steps when a man stepped in her way.

“Excuse me,” he said, and Alex stared at him.

The young man held a map in his hand, “Umm, could you tell me how to get to…”

Alex looked past him. She saw a dark-haired man standing at the door whose face looked familiar. He punched a number into his cell phone and glanced at her inconspicuously.

Shit, Alex thought.

“…the Empire State Building from here?”

“I can’t help you,” she said. “I’m not from here.”

She looked around and saw a second man heading directly toward her. He walked fast and also held a cell phone to his ear. Before the young tourist’s baffled eyes, Alex turned on her heel and jumped over the rosebushes. The two men dashed after her. As fast as she could, Alex ran across the lawn, wet grass squishing beneath her feet. She could have gone faster on the path, but she didn’t look back. She focused on not slipping or falling down—because then she’d be a goner.

Alex rushed past the Tweed Courthouse toward Foley Square. She didn’t pay any attention to the astonished looks of the few passersby as she raced past the US Court of International Trade. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that her pursuers were closer on her heels than she’d realized. She turned right onto Leonard Street, where, near the corner, a group of Japanese tourists stood in the pouring rain, wearing raincoats and posing for photos. Without slowing down, she cut through the group and bumped into a Japanese man, who lost his balance and fell to the ground. The tourists cursed at her with flailing arms, which forced Alex’s pursuers to sidestep them.

This move cost them valuable seconds while Alex crossed Centre Street. Cars stopped with screeching tires as she ran across the street. Her strength was dwindling, and she was completely out of breath, but she could see Columbus Park ahead of her, barely a block away. Suddenly, a dark car turned in front of her and three men jumped out. Alex felt like a deer in headlights as she looked around. Three men blocked her way with grimly determined faces. The other two pursuers came running up behind her, gasping for air.

“Stop!” one of the three men yelled and spread his arms as if he could really stop her. Right at that moment, a silver Dodge turned from Baxter Street onto Hogan Place as a bicycle messenger sped down the street. He tried to evade the Dodge, but his tire slipped on the wet pavement. The young man fell on the ground, and his bicycle was hurled in front of Alex’s feet. She didn’t hesitate for a second. She grabbed the bike and swung herself onto the seat.

One of the men tried to grab her arm. With the strength of adrenaline triggered by her fear, she kicked him in the balls with all her might. He let go of her arm and yelled out in pain. Alex pedaled through Columbus Park faster than she’d ever ridden a bike before, thinking her lungs might explode any second. After a few minutes, she was at the very center of Chinatown—which was still bustling despite the rain. She ditched the bike on a street corner, vanishing into a maze of alleys between stalls and Chinese restaurants.

“She slipped through our fingers,” Silvio Bacchiocchi reported to his boss, leaning on the Dodge’s fender while grimacing in pain. The other men standing around him were irritated and soaked to the bone. No one laughed about Silvio’s mishap. This woman was infuriating. It was pointless to continue the chase because they couldn’t find someone hiding in Chinatown. The Chinese didn’t like it at all when people were chased through their neighborhood. They sided with anyone on the run, and they would certainly provide protection and shelter for a distraught woman.

“Are you too stupid to catch a woman?” Sergio yelled into the phone. “That’s unbelievable!”

“My guys saw her at city hall. But she ran like the devil, and then she snatched a messenger’s bike and disappeared into Chinatown.”

Silvio omitted the fact that Alex had kicked him in the balls.

“If she’s not standing here in front of me by this afternoon,” Sergio replied, “then I’ll hold you personally responsible, capito?”

“Understood.” Silvio hung up the phone.

Sergio closed his eyes for a moment. Alex was a clever bitch. Under different circumstances, he would have admired her for her courage and cleverness—but there was simply too much on the line in this case. Sergio hated her, yet there was also something inside of him that painfully longed for her. There was no question in his mind that she had been the first woman for whom he felt more than mere physical desire. However, she was also the first to betray and lie to him like this. Once he got a hold of her, he would beat her until she begged for mercy. She would bitterly regret the humiliation she had caused him!

“And?” Levy asked when Sergio had put away his cell phone. Sergio turned around quickly.

“And what?”

“Did they get her?”

“No,” Sergio answered grimly. The telephone on Levy’s desk rang.

“What is it?” LMI’s president answered in an irritated voice. “I’m in an important meeting…Excuse me?”

Sergio could hear the agitated voice coming through the receiver. Levy listened silently, finally thanking his caller.

“Who was that?” Sergio asked. Levy, who had been under enormous pressure and was drinking much more than he could handle, looked bleary-eyed at Sergio.

“That was Lester Roman, our manager of strategic partnerships. He noticed a large transaction coming through one of our accounts this morning. Someone electronically requested the liquidation of MPM’s account in the amount of fifty million dollars.”

Sergio stared at him without comprehending. “How can that be? Doesn’t that require the approval of the account holders?”

“Yes, it does,” Levy confirmed, “but it happened. Everything was processed properly. No one thought it was suspicious because our employees routinely process very large transactions. Roman only got suspicious when he saw the name of the account holder during a routine check.”

He paused and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.

“St. John entered the request, and Sontheim must have confirmed it. According to the account list, they were the sole owners of the MPM account and therefore were authorized to move the funds.”

“Where did the money go?” Sergio asked after recovering from the initial shock.

“To an account at California S&L in Beverley Hills, Los Angeles.”

“Who entered the transaction? Zack was already dead last night!”

“The request appeared on the computer this morning. It was approved at 8:31, originating from my computer. Everything was handled properly, and the password was correct. The responsible account manager compared the name of the person making the request with the account holder and approved it.”

“From your computer?” Sergio was stunned and let himself sink into a chair. “That means that Alex was in this office an hour ago and sat calmly at your desk while hundreds of people were looking for her!”

“Fifty million dollars,” Levy whispered, “and we can’t even announce it publicly!”

Sergio stared blankly at the wall. Alex was even more audacious than he could have imagined. While they were searching for her in the building, she had stolen fifty million dollars from him outright. “I’m going to kill her,” he growled. The thought that she had fooled him again tore him up inside. He—Sergio Vitali, who was so smart and cunning that his profitable businesses had operated unimpeded for decades—had been double-crossed by this bitch! Sergio briefly contemplated calling Nelson, but then he dismissed the idea. He grabbed Levy’s telephone.

“What are you going to do?” Levy was nothing more than a frightened bundle of nerves.

“I’ll finish her off.” A cruel smile swirled around Sergio’s lips. “She and her accomplices. Every cop in this country is chasing her now. She’s going to pay for what she did to me.”

He dialed a number that he knew by heart.

“This is Sergio Vitali speaking,” he said when someone answered. “Please put me through to Mr. Harding.”

Alex watched the news at a small joint in Chinatown. The police were looking for her because of Zack’s murder. It was pointless to go to an airport because the risk of getting stopped was too great. She left the restaurant and walked in the rain to Canal Street, where she hailed a cab.

“Where to?” the cab driver asked.

“Port Authority,” Alex replied. Neither Sergio nor the police would check all the buses that left the city. On her way to Forty-Second Street, she managed to calm herself down some. She had escaped Sergio’s men by a whisker, but she certainly wouldn’t be so lucky again. These men were dead serious. Things had been snapping quickly into place over the past forty-eight hours, and she had triggered it all. Alex leaned her forehead against the taxi’s window. Would she have blown the Whithers deal if she had known what would happen? Zack was dead—murdered by the same men who were after her now. She shuddered when she realized that her life as she knew it was over. The thought that she was on the run, without a clue as to how and when it might end, was so frightening that she wanted to cry.

Oliver had been waiting for a phone call from Alex or Mark for three hours. He could hardly stand sitting in his apartment any longer, condemned to idleness and watching TV as it broadcast incredible cock-and-bull stories about Alex and St. John. Where was Alex? Why didn’t she contact him?

The buzz of the doorbell tore him from his thoughts. But instead of Alex, two police officers with weapons drawn and two plainclothesmen were standing in the doorway. His first reflex was to slam the door shut, but the men were already in his apartment. They brutally pushed his face against the wall and twisted his arms behind his back.

“Are you Oliver Skerritt?” one of the men asked.

“Yes,” Oliver said, wheezing in pain, “what do you want from me?”

“NYPD.” The first man presented his badge while the other searched him for weapons. “We just want to ask you some questions. Please come with us.”

“Do you have an arrest warrant?” Oliver’s heart was pounding.

“We just want to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?”

“About Alex Sontheim.”

“And what exactly would you like to know?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Come on, let’s go.”

They dragged him from his apartment, and Oliver saw the flabbergasted faces of the couple living below him as the police escorted him downstairs. His fear that Sergio Vitali must be behind this arrest grew inside of him.

As Alex waited for the departure of her Greyhound to Boston, she remembered the cell phone she had found under Zack’s desk and took it out of the pocket of her wet down jacket. It was set on silent, but still turned on. She dialed Mark’s extension, but he didn’t answer. Then she tried to reach Oliver. He also didn’t pick up the phone. Determined, she called the operator to connect her with city hall. It took a while to get through to the mayor, but at last she had Nick on the line.

“Alex!” Nick’s voice sounded tense. “Where are you?”

Alex closed her eyes with a sense of relief. The bus would leave in ten minutes.

“I don’t have much time,” she said quickly. “Please, listen to me! Nothing they claim on TV is true!”

“Alex—”

“No, please listen,” she cut him off. “An important deal went sour yesterday. St. John bought a hundred million dollars’ worth of shares for MPM whose value was cut in half overnight. Do you remember that partnership called SeaStarFriends that I told you about?”

“Yes.”

“This partnership was originally founded by Levy and Vitali to operate an investment firm called MPM. But since last night, St. John and I are listed as the sole owners. They wanted to blame the whole disaster on us and be done with it.”

“Hold on! I don’t quite understand—”

“Because of St. John, MPM is sitting on a huge pile of unsellable shares. The firm will file for bankruptcy today for failure to meet net capital requirements. Vitali and Levy obviously didn’t want to risk exposing their involvement with this dirty business, which is why they made St. John and me the owners. Zack probably found out and fought against it. That’s why he was killed.”

“Alex,” Nick said emphatically, “they say that you killed him. The police and the FBI are after you. Can’t you come here?”

“I’ve tried.” Alex looked around, but no one in the Port Authority waiting area seemed to take any interest in a woman wearing a baseball hat. “I ran into Sergio’s men at city hall and barely managed to escape. Nick, these guys want to kill me because I’ve discovered things that’ll surely put Sergio behind bars. I haven’t killed anyone. I went to St. John’s office last night because I wanted to talk to him about everything, and then I found his dead body.”

“Alex, for heaven’s sake. Tell me where you are. I’ll send someone over right away.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t do that. I don’t trust anyone anymore. There are too many people on Sergio’s side.”

“Then I’ll come myself.”

“Vitali is scouring the city for me. Nick, you must use the information that I’ve given you before Levy and Vitali manage to cover their tracks! Please!”

“Alex, let me come to you!”

“No. I’ll skip town for a while, but I’ll contact you again as soon as I can.”

There was a click on the line, and the call ended. Nick stared at the receiver in his hand and slowly put it down. Her voice sounded desperate, but the things she told him sounded plausible. It wouldn’t be the first time Vitali got rid of an inconvenient accomplice. And now he tried to blame the murder on Alex to discredit her. US Attorney John de Lancie appeared on TV. The reporter asked what kind of evidence the US Attorney’s Office had to prove that Alex Sontheim committed the murder of Zachary St. John.

“Ms. Sontheim was in Mr. St. John’s office,” de Lancie said in a serious tone. With perfectly parted hair and steel-framed glasses, he seemed authoritative and determined. “We checked the surveillance tapes numerous times, and there is no doubt that just Ms. Sontheim entered the office after St. John. He was killed by a shot to the head from a close distance. St. John held the weapon in his hand, which indicates that the crime was intended to be disguised as a suicide. Further evidence shows that Ms. Sontheim’s fingerprints were all over the desk, the computer’s keyboard, and the mouse. As we have learned in the meantime, she used her victim’s computer to transfer a large sum of money from a company account to her personal account. We assume that she planned to flee the country with the money after she learned that the front organization she had used in her large-scale illegal insider trading scheme was doomed to bankruptcy. In all likelihood, a fight erupted, during which she shot her accomplice in order to seize all of the remaining money for herself.”

“Where’s Ms. Sontheim at the moment?” a reporter asked.

“We don’t know. She’s still on the run. But since we issued a federal warrant for her arrest for the murder of Zachary St. John, she’s not only wanted by the police but also the FBI and the US Marshals Service. I’m optimistic that we will capture her by the end of the day.”

Nick stared at his successor’s face. The alleged evidence against Alex was overwhelming: fingerprints, surveillance tapes, and now also embezzlement! And on top of it, she was a fugitive. If she were innocent, she could turn herself in to the police—at least an outside observer would believe. Nick wished that he could trust Alex, but he started to doubt her innocence. He realized he hardly knew her, and he wondered if his past sympathy for her may have influenced his objectivity. Maybe Alex hadn’t accessed those bank statements by accident after all. It was certainly possible that she was not only in league with St. John, but maybe even with Vitali himself—until she had fallen out of favor with them.

Suspicion arose inside Nick, and he started to feel sick. Did Alex possibly just call on him to uncover the alleged bribery scandal to distract from her crime? How could he know whether these bank statements were real? It wasn’t difficult for a banker to falsify such statements. Nick felt miserable. What if Alex had planned all of this long ago? It was conceivable that she had just visited him at the cemetery that Sunday to trick him into trusting her. Maybe she got into a lover’s quarrel with Vitali and conjured up this perfidious plan to put one over on him. Who would make a more suitable ally than Nick Kostidis? But Alex’s compassion and her fear of Vitali had seemed so genuine. He had believed her unconditionally.

“It almost seems this lady has led us by the nose,” Frank said, voicing Nick’s fears.

“I refuse to believe that,” he said quietly. He remembered how she’d snuggled against his arm when they met on that evening in Tribeca. He was proud of his ability to read people. But suddenly he remembered Raymond Howard. He had let himself be deceived before. Could he have really deluded himself so tragically a second time?

“She asked me to use the information that she gave us immediately,” Nick said.

“That would put an end to the headlines about this guy’s murder for a while,” Frank said, nodding. “In the meantime, she can bolt undisturbed.”

Nick stared silently into space.

“That’s a clever plan,” Frank said. “I believed everything she said. She’s a great actress.”

“I have a feeling that this is yet another cover-up,” Nick countered. “Just like that anthrax thing.”

“Possibly,” Frank replied skeptically, “but the question remains who wants to cover what up? It seems to me that Sontheim is trying to use this bribery scandal as a distraction from her dirty dealings.”

“Please leave me alone for a moment,” Nick asked. “I need to think about this. Tell Allie not to put any calls through, except…”

“Yes?”

“Except if it’s Alex Sontheim.”

“Nick! You’re making a huge mistake! This woman is wanted for murder!”

“Frank, please!”

Frank Cohen threw his boss a doubtful look and left the office. Nick closed his eyes. He was bitterly disappointed. He would never trust a person in his life again if Alex had really deceived him so badly. He owed his life to her. Now she had asked him for help, and he was too much of a coward to act, too afraid to make a mistake. He had never been hesitant or timid in the past—back in the old days, before Vitali had succeeded in destroying him. Nick sighed in agony, wishing that he had someone to ask for advice. As a politician, he needed to be reelected every four years. Handing over dubious evidence could risk his reputation. His intuition told him that they were real, but what if they weren’t? He turned on the television. He had never let himself be influenced by what other people thought before. If any decision he made was highly unpopular, then he would make it quickly to get it over with. Why didn’t he just do what Alex had asked him to do? Did he really care about reelection? Sergio Vitali—who had humiliated and mocked him for years—had already taken everything he loved and cherished. He had nothing to lose.

Police Commissioner Harding appeared on the TV screen, and Nick turned up the volume. They were still talking about the murder. Harding spoke with exaggerated pathos, as if Alex had shot the president himself. And it was this minor detail that caught Nick’s attention. This St. John character was just one of thousands of investment bankers on Wall Street. His death was certainly tragic, but did this really constitute a threat to national security requiring the involvement of the FBI? A murder case wasn’t the responsibility of New York City’s police commissioner but that of the homicide department. Nick had a feeling that his intuition was right. This whole thing was fishy. It was downright strange to make such a mountain out of a molehill. Did the involvement of both Harding and de Lancie, and the media hype around the murder of a relatively unknown investment banker, actually indicate that Vitali was involved? If that was the case, then Alex was right. The more Nick thought about it, the more plausible her admittedly wild story seemed. Assuming that they were real, the documents that she had given him were explosive. Vitali was certainly also aware of that.

“Blood-covered gloves were found in a trash can,” Harding said, “and the crime scene unit believes that the suspect wore these gloves when she committed the murder of her former accomplice.”

Gloves? Nick hesitated. De Lancie had just said that her fingerprints were clear proof of her guilt. Nick made his decision that very second. He could never look at himself in the mirror again if something happened to Alex because of his cowardice. His idle time was over. He would find out soon enough whether his decision was right or wrong. But doing nothing would only help Vitali.

“The confirmation arrived,” Justin Savier said, turning toward Alex. “Fifty million dollars has been credited to your account at Bank of America.”

Alex exhaled with a deep sigh and clenched her fists. It was three thirty, and she was wide awake and dead tired at the same time. She glanced at the muted TV. The manhunt for her in connection with Zack’s murder was the top story on all the channels. She could hardly believe what was happening to her.

“Thanks, Justin,” she said. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for all this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Justin smiled. For him it was all an exciting game. “What’s next?”

“The money is wired to a numbered account at Gérard Frères in Zurich,” Alex replied, “and then it’ll vanish.”

Justin nodded.

“By the way, that hair color looks really good on you.” He grinned. Alex smiled in fatigue. She’d dyed her hair darker and wore blue contact lenses. Justin had taken pictures of her two hours ago and e-mailed them to an acquaintance. Her new American passport in the name of Emily Chambers would be ready an hour later. Justin’s shady acquaintance had asked for a thousand dollars, which felt like nothing considering the passport could get her out of the country unscathed. The Swissair flight to Zurich Justin booked under this false name was scheduled to depart at ten o’clock. If everything went smoothly, she would be in Switzerland seven hours later, where Gerhard Etzbach—a fellow Stanford alumnus—would be waiting for her. He hadn’t hesitated for a second when she called him and asked for help. Ten minutes later, he’d called her back to give her the details for the account he had opened in her name.

“I’m worried about Mark and Oliver.” She couldn’t bear sitting still despite her fatigue, so she paced back and forth through Justin’s apartment. “I can only hope that Kostidis takes action.”

“If we don’t hear from him by nine, I’ll fly straight to New York to see Kostidis,” Justin offered. “I’ll convince him that everything you told him is true. Then he’s got no choice but to act.”

“I hope it won’t be too late by then.” Alex couldn’t fend off these dark premonitions. She had a feeling that the worst was yet to come.

It was ten thirty when Lloyd Connors—the deputy US attorney for the Southern District of New York—entered the mayor’s office.

“What kind of crazy story is this, Nick?” he asked. “I hope that this really is important, because my wife was pretty mad when I told her that I had to leave the house again.”

“Thank you for coming right away.” Nick extended his hand to the younger man. They sat down at the table in his office. Connors had started at the US Attorney’s Office straight out of law school when Nick was still the head of the agency. He had perseverance and was clever and ambitious. Nick wasn’t one bit surprised that he had climbed the career ladder so quickly.

“You said on the telephone that de Lancie must not hear about this meeting. That had me wondering. So what’s this all about?” Connors crossed his legs and watched Nick closely with a friendly smile. His adversaries had frequently underestimated him because he looked so harmless, but an alert intelligence lurked behind his boyish face.

“It’s a complicated matter and highly explosive,” Nick started out. “I finally got my hands on evidence against Vitali.”

“Vitali again?” Connors said mildly. “You still haven’t given up on him, have you?”

“I’ve always been right, and you know it. I simply couldn’t prove anything.”

“And now you can?” Connors raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Nick said, nodding slowly, “I think so. However, this is really big. It’ll have major consequences, affecting many powerful men in the city.”

“You’re making me curious.”

“What would you say if I had a list of names of people who’ve been receiving bribes from Vitali for years?”

“Interesting. How credible is this…list?”

“They’re bank statements from numbered bank accounts on Grand Cayman,” Nick said. “It looks like a very sophisticated bribery system.”

“Written evidence of paid bribes?”

“I think it’s leverage against the people receiving the bribes. They’re not aware of it.”

“Now you really have my attention.” Connors leaned back, sharply eyeing Nick.

“Somebody came to me a few weeks ago. This person works at a major investment firm on Wall Street. She told me that she’d stumbled upon a large-scale fraud scheme and unwittingly got tangled up in it. I got curious when she mentioned Vitali. It appears that Vitali had a front organization through which he bought large blocks of shares based on information obtained from insiders. The profits from these transactions were paid to these secret accounts in cash. This firm seems to serve the sole purpose of generating dirty money to bribe high-ranking officials and politicians. It’s clearly evident where the money originated when you look at the deposits. Furthermore, I believe that Vitali has been laundering drug money through this front organization.”

“What kind of money are we talking about?”

“Upward of fifty thousand dollars a month, for a period of at least three years.”

“How reliable is this information?”

“I have the account statements.”

“Is the person who passed this information to you willing to testify in court?”

Nick shrugged his shoulders. “To be honest with you, I don’t know.”

“Can you give me some names on the list?”

“Lloyd,” Nick said as he stood up and looked at the deputy US attorney, “this is a life-threatening situation. The man who performed these transactions for Vitali was found dead today.”

“You’re talking about St. John at LMI.”

“Exactly. St. John bought a large amount of stock in a company represented by his firm in a takeover deal. As you know, the deal went bust. The company through which St. John bought this stock filed for bankruptcy today.”

“Manhattan Portfolio Management?” Connors looked at Nick in surprise.

“That’s right. MPM itself is owned by a partnership. Vitali and Levy, LMI’s president, are behind it.”

“No, no, you’re mistaken.” Connors shook his head. “I’ve read the reports. This St. John and his accomplice, the head of the M&A department, were the owners of the firm. They got into a fight or panicked, and then the woman killed him and escaped.”

“That’s the official version,” Nick objected, “but it’s not true.”

“How could that be? There’s evidence—and an arrest warrant.”

“Just a minute.” Nick walked over to his desk and took out the papers that Alex had given him.

“This,” Nick said as he handed Connors a sheet of paper, “is a computer printout from July sixth of this year. It comes from the Department of Commerce on the British Virgin Islands and clearly states the owners of the partnership SeaStarFriends. And this is a copy from the commercial registry stating that SeaStarFriends itself is the sole owner of MPM.”

Connors studied the two pieces of paper and shook his head again.

“You’re right,” he admitted, “that’s unbelievable.”

“Yes, it is. The names of the owners were amended electronically after Vitali and Levy were in danger of being exposed through this firm’s bankruptcy filing.”

“That would be something!”

“Indeed,” Nick confirmed. “It’s illegal for the president or a board member of an investment firm to own a brokerage company dealing in shares of the firm’s clients.”

“Correct. That’s a serious violation of securities law.”

Connors frowned and stared at the papers.

“Where did you get this?”

Nick took a deep breath.

“From the woman you suspect of being St. John’s murderer.”

“Alex Sontheim?” Connors asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Nick replied. “She was afraid that Vitali had found out what she knew and went to discuss next steps with St. John. But she was too late—St. John was dead when she found him.”

“And you believe her story?” Connors raised his eyebrows. “Come on, Nick! Where’s your sense of reality? This woman embezzled fifty million dollars and is on the run! If she was innocent, she could turn herself in to the authorities.”

“No, she can’t,” Nick countered. “Vitali would kill her.”

Connors didn’t seem convinced.

“She called me today,” Nick said calmly. “I’ve heard many people lie before. She’s not lying. I believe her—without a doubt.”

“She called you?” Connors’s eyes widened. “Fifty US marshals, the police, and the FBI are tracking her down for murder, and you tell me with a straight face that you had a phone conversation with this woman?”

“For God’s sake, Lloyd, she didn’t do it!” Nick replied vehemently. “I know something is seriously fishy here, and my instincts have rarely failed me. De Lancie and Harding are contradicting each other when it comes to the evidence. And why would the police commissioner get personally involved in a homicide investigation? He didn’t even step in when Roddy Burillo, quarterback for the Giants, was killed—and that was a truly newsworthy case!”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Harding is Vitali’s man. Just like de Lancie and Governor Rhodes.”

“Come on, Nick! That’s ridiculous!”

“Absolutely not.” Nick handed the bank statements to the deputy US attorney. “Look at them closely and then tell me whether or not we have a case here.”

He crossed his arms. Connors’s face was first filled with astonishment, then with shock.

“For God’s sake,” Connors said, lowering the papers, “if all of this is true, then…then…”

“It’s true. Raymond Howard’s name is on the list. He was one of my closest employees for eight years. I often wondered why many of my secret plans were already known before they were officially made public. Howard was Vitali’s mole in my office.”

He paused for a moment and remembered Raymond Howard’s terror when Mary and Christopher got into the limousine. He had known that there was a bomb in the car. A bomb that was meant for Nick.

“It was Howard who informed Vitali about Zuckerman’s hideout. He was also the one who shared redevelopment plans for certain neighborhoods in the South Bronx. And as a result, Vitali purchased entire apartment blocks and sent his people there to intimidate the tenants. Vitali’s son was arrested during one of those raids.”

Connors stared at Nick with his mouth wide open.

“Alex Sontheim personally overheard the same man who shot at me at the cemetery in Brooklyn reporting Zuckerman’s murder to Vitali. Vitali had Zuckerman killed because he was afraid he would reveal to the grand jury how he secured the contract to build the World Financial Center. By the way, you can ask Paul McIntyre about this. He’s also on the list.”

“But de Lancie…”

“Do you remember the incidents at the Forty-First Precinct in the Bronx the night of Cesare Vitali’s arrest? Did you ever wonder why de Lancie personally showed up there?”

“Yes, I did.”

“There you go. He had to show up because he’s obligated to Vitali. I was also there, which he didn’t like at all. He was acting strange for a US attorney. I told him straight to his face that I questioned his loyalty.”

Connors nodded slowly.

“It was also strange that they captured the guy who allegedly shot at Vitali within just a few hours. Furthermore, there was this obscure terrorist case that—in my opinion—served to distract from Vitali and his son’s death.”

“So who actually shot at him?”

“I suspect that it was the Colombian drug cartel. Vitali tipped off customs, which in turn busted a huge cocaine shipment. The shots at Vitali were the Colombian’s revenge. I saw through it, but I made the mistake of publicly announcing it. The attempt on my life was the final proof of how dangerously close I got to the truth.”

“Good Lord. Nick, do you know what all of this means?”

“Yes,” Nick said, frowning, “I know very well.”

“But how does Sontheim fit into this? Why did she disappear?”

“She’s understandably frightened after everything that’s happened.”

Connors started pacing. He frowned, chewing on his lower lip.

“I hope you get this, Lloyd,” Nick said. “I’m pretty sure Vitali spread the rumor that Alex killed St. John to create a distraction. A murder suspect is useless as a witness in court.”

The deputy US attorney stopped.

“Looking at it that way, it doesn’t sound as absurd anymore.” He took a deep breath and exhaled again. “But I can’t rush things. A case like this must be prepared carefully.”

“We don’t have much time left. With every passing hour, Vitali has more opportunity to destroy the evidence.”

And he could find Alex. And kill her…

No, he mustn’t think about that now. Above all else, he had to make sure that no one caught on to his feelings for this woman, who was the key witness in one of the biggest corruption scandals in New York’s history. Connors leaned forward, his hands braced on the tabletop; he stared at the papers spread out in front of him.

“I don’t know what kind of avalanche we may trigger here,” he said to Nick’s relief, “but we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“We have a lead,” Luca announced. “She bought something at a department store in Boston this morning with her credit card.”

Sergio had been lying on the sofa with his eyes closed; he jumped up. Alex had gotten out of the city. Did she make a purchase with her credit card on purpose, or was it just poor judgment? She must know that credit cards could be traced.

“The FBI is watching every international airport,” Massimo said. “She won’t be able to leave the country.”

“Of course she can,” Sergio replied, annoyed. “She probably has new papers and a different appearance by now. Alex is damn clever.”

Massimo, Luca, and Silvio looked at each other. They had never seen Sergio Vitali admit to a mistake.

“We have to catch her before the cops do,” Sergio said, more to himself than the other three men. “Luca, send two guys to the airport in Boston. And Silvio, what about this lawyer in LA?”

“We’ve got all the documents,” Silvio responded. “Our man is already on a plane back to New York. His tracks have been covered up carefully.”

“Will the lawyer keep his mouth shut?”

“Yes, he will,” Silvio confirmed. “He swallowed a bit too much water.”

Sergio nodded in satisfaction. Levy would fly to Georgetown tomorrow morning to close all of the secret accounts. He hadn’t heard anything yet, but there was still the possibility that Alex had told someone about these accounts. It was better to temporarily close them. The US Attorney’s Office seemed to have swallowed the bait. The television news reports were all about the fugitive Alex Sontheim. The evidence against her was overwhelming. The FBI’s involvement in the search had blown St. John’s murder so out of proportion that MPM’s bankruptcy had become a side issue. Exactly as planned. Sergio’s friends at the SEC and the US Attorney’s Office would pursue the investigation in their usual superficial way, and in two weeks no one would give a damn about it anymore. Oliver Skerritt was in a single cell at the police department. Alex’s closest employee, Mark Ashton, was in a basement at LMI. All they could do now was wait.

The telephone rang shortly before midnight.

“The money was wired from California S&L to an account at Bank of America at eleven this morning,” Levy announced. “A few hours later, it was transferred out of the country. This was all done electronically.”

“Do you know where it was sent?”

“Of course,” Levy replied with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “That’s one of the advantages of modern data communication. It was wired to Switzerland.”

“There are hundreds of banks in Switzerland.”

“Exactly. And this is where we lose the trail. It was transferred to an anonymous numbered account. Alex knows what she’s doing. We’d better just accept it: that money is gone.”

Tracy Taylor and Jason Bennett—Lloyd Connors’s two closest staff members—arrived at city hall just after midnight. Frank had ordered some pizza and brewed a pot of coffee, and now they were sitting at the conference table with all of the papers spread out in front of them as they worked through a strategy. It was almost like old times, when Nick was still a US attorney planning the takedowns of Mafia bosses. But in contrast to those days, they needed to proceed with extreme caution because they could not discern friend from enemy. They couldn’t trust a soul. Anyone working in the city could be on Vitali’s payroll.

“We have to keep de Lancie out of this,” Nick said. “He’s one of Vitali’s most important connections at the moment.”

“We still don’t know how bulletproof this evidence is,” Connors said. “Where did this woman get these statements? Who obtained them?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes,” the deputy US attorney objected, “it does. We must prove without a doubt that these people actually used this money. We also need to prove how they accessed these accounts. They may be totally unaware of it. In that case, we’d have a case of attempted bribery, but no criminal offense.”

“Above all, we need the woman,” Jason Bennett spoke up. “She’s the only one who understands all the connections.”

Nick leaned back in exhaustion. If they confronted the people on this list with the bank statements, then they’d willingly testify just to save their own skin—he had no doubt about that. He didn’t care whether or not Alex was the key witness, but he was still seriously worried about her. There was no doubt Vitali had ordered his people to track her down.

“We need to bring in the FBI,” Connors added. “This thing is too big for us alone. Imagine what will happen when we arrest Governor Rhodes…”

“So what?” Nick walked back and forth restlessly. “He accepted money from a criminal.”

“Did he really?”

Someone knocked at the door, and Allie Mitchell peeked in. She had come back to the office when Frank called her at home.

“There’s a gentleman here by the name of Justin Savier,” she said. “He claims to be a friend of Alex Sontheim.”

“Send him in!” Nick exclaimed.

A skinny man in his midthirties with shoulder-length dreadlocks entered the office of New York City’s mayor. “Excuse me for interrupting, but Alex Sontheim asked me to come here.”

Nick looked at the man suspiciously. Was he really one of Vitali’s spies just pretending to be Alex’s friend?

“How do I know you are who you claim you are?”

“Do you want to see my ID?” the man asked. “I can prove to you that all of the documents Alex gave you are real.”

Connors interrupted: “Then show us your evidence.”

“Who are you, if I may ask?” Justin Savier challenged with raised eyebrows. Nick quickly introduced the US attorneys and offered him a seat and a cup of coffee. Justin accepted both. Then he explained that he was a college friend of Oliver Skerritt’s and Alex’s trusted employee Mark Ashton, and that he worked at MIT in Boston. He reported that Mark, Alex, and Oliver had approached him last summer because they wanted to find out more about the dirty dealings that she’d uncovered at LMI. Nick and Connors exchanged a glance.

“Where is Alex Sontheim now?” the deputy US attorney inquired.

“On an airplane to Europe,” Justin replied.

“Impossible. All airports are under surveillance.”

“I got her a fake passport,” Justin admitted in front of the assembled US attorneys. “You’ve got to believe her. I have the e-mail that Alex printed from St. John’s computer last night. Mark Ashton and Oliver Skerritt disappeared because this monster’s already got a hold of them.”

“Not so fast,” Connors cut him off. “What do you have to do with this whole thing?”

Justin told them how he managed to get the information that Alex had handed over to Kostidis. Then he recounted what he had learned last night about the ownership structure of the SeaStarFriends partnership.

“Whew,” Connors exhaled, running his hands through his hair.

“You don’t believe me?” Justin asked.

“We’ve questioned the authenticity of the statements,” Nick answered on Connors’s behalf, “but they do appear to be real.”

“They definitely are,” Justin confirmed. “We were totally shocked when we realized the magnitude of this conspiracy.”

“What makes you so sure that it wasn’t Alex Sontheim who killed St. John?” Connors asked.

“She had absolutely no reason to kill him,” Justin replied. “After all, he could have testified to what actually went down at LMI. After reading St. John’s e-mails, you’ll see that he had no intention of blowing his brains out. Alex believes that Vitali’s thugs killed Zack, and now they’re blaming her for the murder in order to divert attention.”

Nick and Connors again exchanged a brief glance.

“Alex didn’t kill St. John,” Justin said emphatically. “I’m sure that you’ve noticed the police contradicting themselves on TV, right? First, they found fingerprints everywhere and then the gloves. That’s totally contradictory!”

“Show us the e-mails,” Connors requested.

Justin grabbed his backpack and pulled out a few pages. He placed them on the table. The deputy US attorney took the pages and read through them.

“Wow,” he exclaimed and passed them on to Nick. “Incredible.”

“Don’t you believe Alex is telling the truth?” Justin asked.

Connors looked up.

“Yes,” he said grimly. “Yes, now I believe her. Oh, this is going to be one hell of a ride.”

Sergio spent half a day checking in with his connections at the US Attorney’s Office and the police department. No one doubted that Alex had killed St. John out of greed and to cover her tracks. No one he talked to seemed nervous, which could only mean that Alex hadn’t shared any evidence against him. Sergio still had no plausible explanation for how she had accessed a bank statement from Levy & Villiers, but even if she had run to Kostidis, there was no direct link leading to him. There was no way in hell that the people he bribed would admit to anything because then they’d be finished. There was no evidence. Zack—the only person besides him and Levy who knew the score—was dead. All of the documents that the lawyer from California had in his possession had been destroyed, and he was dead as a doornail.

A sinister smile appeared on Sergio’s face. Zack thought he was smart, trying to cover his ass, but Sergio was smarter. Then his smile vanished. Yes, he was smarter than Zack, but Alex had him fooled. But even she couldn’t hide from him forever. She’d trip up at some point, and he would pounce on her and show no mercy.

Silvio stopped the car at van Mieren’s mansion at the edge of Hempstead on Long Island. Nelson hadn’t left his house for the past three weeks. Sergio knew that his closest confidant was seriously ill, but he’d had enough of Nelson’s wife’s excuses to keep him off the phone. He wanted to hear Nelson explain himself. The situation had turned incredibly complex, and Sergio urgently needed the advice of his friend and lawyer. Carmen van Mieren opened the door.

“Sergio! Come in,” she greeted him warmly and let him kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll tell Nelson you’re here. He’s in bed.”

“Thank you. I won’t disturb him for too long.”

Sergio walked into a comfortably furnished salon with a magnificent view of the lake. A thick fog hung like a cloud over the water. He gazed out at the leafless yard and down to the pier, unable to fend off memories of happier days. They had often sat in this yard and on the jetty, forging their ambitious plans. The children had played in the yard while Carmen and Constanzia prepared meals. Sergio remembered Nelson’s son William’s wedding, which they had celebrated here just one week after the magnificent opening ceremony of the VITAL Building, the steel-and-concrete manifestation of his success. Sergio remembered his sons as children and reminisced about the many years that he and Nelson had known each other. He and Nelson had been so successful in their work together. They had built an empire that generated billions. Sergio sighed. Nelson was the rock on which he always relied. His loyalty had been unshakable for forty years. Now they were old—older than their fathers ever were. It was time to sit back and enjoy the fruits of their hard labor, but instead everything had fallen apart. Constanzia had left him, Cesare was dead, and—because of Alex—his empire was shaken to its core. Sergio dug his hands into his pants pockets. He stiffened as he thought about her. Alex had humiliated him, wounded his pride, and now had also lied and stolen from him. She’d caused him a crushing defeat. But one lost battle didn’t lose the war.

“Hello, Sergio.”

He flinched and turned around quickly. Sergio was terrified at the sight of his old friend. Nelson must have lost forty-five pounds during the past few weeks. His complexion was unhealthy and gray, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Nelson, my dear friend.” He walked toward Nelson and grabbed his hand heartily. “How are you?”

“It probably won’t get any better,” Nelson replied in a hoarse voice. “The doctors tell me to do chemotherapy, but I don’t want it. I won’t get healthy again doing that.”

He walked over to an armchair and sat down clumsily.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Sergio suddenly asked.

“Do I give you that impression?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Nelson said with a sigh. “I guess I probably owe you an apology.”

Sergio sat down in another armchair across from him.

“I told you once before that I was out if you had the mayor killed. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, you said something along those lines.” Sergio nodded impatiently. “Kostidis is alive and kicking. What else do you want?”

“You had a car bomb planted in his car that killed four people,” Nelson said, “and you lied to me when you said that you had nothing to do with it. I believed you.”

Sergio didn’t bat an eye.

“Since Kostidis was still alive, you sent Natale to the cemetery,” Nelson continued. “I’m also sure that you gave the order to have your own son killed, even though you also denied that to my face.”

He fell silent.

In all of the long years they’d worked together, Nelson van Mieren had admired Sergio’s intelligence, his energy, and his incredible willpower. He had never questioned Sergio’s decisions, even though human beings died because of them. But now he couldn’t do it anymore.

Now that his own death was imminent, perhaps Nelson realized he had chosen the wrong path in life. Their sprawling empire was built on blood and fear. Blinded by success and power, Nelson had gotten used to this. He had never taken anyone’s life personally; he had no blood on his hands. It was merely a means to an end. This was simply part of business, and he never really thought about it—until the night that someone shot at Sergio. That night, he saw both Sergio’s and his own future with shocking clarity. Like the big Mafia families a few decades ago, they were doomed to fail—if they weren’t able to put an end to their dangerous and illegal business dealings. Nelson had tried to convince Sergio, but he was deaf to any argument. Doubts had suddenly crept in, and with those doubts came fear. The Kostidis business ultimately tilted the scales. Sergio still underestimated this man. And that would have disastrous consequences.

“I don’t know whether my nerves got weaker or my conscience louder,” Nelson continued. “I only know that I can’t trust you anymore. You lied to me, and now you even have Luca’s people watching me. That’s not a basis for mutual trust and cooperation, and this is why I’ve decided not to work for you anymore. I want to spend my last remaining months in peace.”

Sergio remained calm on the outside.

“We’ve walked a long way together and built a successful business,” Nelson said. “I assumed that the times of killing were over, and we succeeded in doing things legally. That was always my goal. But now I’m forced to realize that the past can’t be purged that easily.”

He smiled sadly.

“You can’t do this!” Sergio jumped up. “You can’t just quit like some employee in a supermarket. I need you, Nelson. I can’t do it without you!”

“But you’ll have to in the future.” Nelson shrugged his shoulders. “You know plenty of clever young lawyers who are more ruthless and ambitious than I am now. You’ll find a successor for me.”

Sergio stared at his oldest friend in disbelief. Up to now, he’d thought that he could appease Nelson somehow, but he suddenly realized that his companion had made an irrevocable decision. He was no longer on his side. Sergio’s anger was mixed with serious concern. Nelson knew everything—all of the correlations, all the contacts and cover-ups—as well as he did. Nelson was his strongest support. People like St. John or Alex were replaceable—but not Nelson.

“What are you going to do now? Go to the police?” Sergio forced himself to speak in a disdainful tone. “Will you make your great confession and write a book about your life? Where does this sudden guilty conscience come from? What’s suddenly so different? You’ve become rich and powerful because of me, Nelson. Your family is taken care of. You better than anyone know why I had to do all of this! It’s a jungle out there: eat or be eaten. I’m not suitable prey! I’ve always fought and worked hard. I can’t let some random idiot ruin everything that I’ve accomplished.”

He stared at Nelson with fiery eyes.

“I understand,” Nelson replied in a tired voice, “but I can’t accept the way that you defend yourself anymore. I’m longing for peace and quiet. I can’t take all the tension anymore. I feel old, burned out. I’m afraid I’ll make mistakes now.”

“You don’t make mistakes.”

“Yes I do! I’ve already made one! I should have forced you to keep your hands off of Kostidis. You felt too secure, Sergio. You never listened to my warnings, and now Kostidis is not only your adversary but your sworn enemy. Believe me, he’s a very dangerous man.”

“I’m not afraid of Kostidis,” Sergio said, waving his hand dismissively.

“You should be,” Nelson replied, “and you know all too well that most of your allies are on your side against their will. As soon as you’re under attack, they’ll quickly forget their loyalty and turn their backs on you. Do you think that Levy will be at your side when you get into trouble?”

“You talk about trouble and problems, but everything’s going great,” Sergio said irritably.

“You’re arrogant,” Nelson said, slowly shaking his head. “Open your eyes for once! You’ve got problems at the port and also at LMI. Why don’t you cut off the illegal parts of your business? How much richer do you want to be? Or are you afraid that someone else could become more powerful than you? Why are you putting everything at risk?”

“I’m not risking anything,” Sergio countered coldly.

“Oh yes, you are. You think that you can move people around like chess pieces. But someone will come one day who’s just as smart and ruthless as you are. You think that you’re untouchable, but you’re not. You’re not above the law. You’ve just been lucky up to now.”

“Who could get to me? Tell me! Who?”

“What’s really going on with MPM?” Nelson sighed. “Who killed St. John? It wasn’t Alex.”

“Who cares as long as the police believe it?”

“You had him killed because he was a threat to you.” Sergio thought he detected a hint of mockery in Nelson’s eyes. “And then you blame your little girlfriend because she left you—just like Constanzia. Your pride couldn’t take it.”

“That’s bullshit!” exclaimed Sergio, but the truth in Nelson’s words stung.

“Does she know anything about you?”

“No,” Sergio said, but he avoided looking at his friend. “Well, maybe…I don’t know.”

“You’re about to lose control,” Nelson said quietly, “and that’s very dangerous.”

Sergio breathed heavily, trying to control his rising anger. He had always hated asking anyone for anything, but now he was forced to.

“I’ll do anything you say, Nelson,” he said, humbly lowering his head. “I’ve made a few mistakes, but it won’t happen again. You’re right that the bloodshed must end. I beg you, for the sake of our long friendship, don’t turn your back on me now.”

Nelson gave Sergio a serious look. He knew too well how difficult it was for Sergio Vitali to utter such a plea. He felt compelled to reconsider his initial decision for a moment. But then Nelson stood up with a sigh. All he saw in Sergio’s eyes was anger and coldness. Sergio wouldn’t change a thing. His put-on humility was nothing but a tactic.

“Okay,” Nelson said.

“Will you come to the office tomorrow?” Sergio asked. “At least for a few hours so we can talk things over?”

“Yes. I’ll be there.”

Relief washed over Sergio’s face. He hugged Nelson quickly.

“See you tomorrow, my friend,” he said.

Out the window, Nelson van Mieren watched Sergio walk to his limousine and get in.

“Is he gone?”

Nelson turned around. Constanzia Vitali and his wife Carmen stood in the doorway.

Nelson took the small recorder out of his robe pocket, pressed the stop button, and handed it to Constanzia.

“What will you do?” she asked. “Will you really return to him?”

“No”—Nelson sighed and shook his head—“I’ve made my decision. Nevertheless, I’m sorry that you—”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Constanzia quickly cut him off and hugged him. “I’ve waited years for this opportunity. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get my revenge for everything that he’s done to me. I’m not afraid of him.”

Van Mieren smiled sadly.

“You’re very brave, Connie.”

“Someone has to do it,” she said, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Sergio is responsible for so many deaths. And there’s no end in sight.”

Apart from the noise of the rain tapping against the window, it was completely silent.

“I should be the one to do what you’re doing,” Nelson said, his voice cracking, “but I’m a coward. I’ve been a coward all my life.”

He turned toward his wife.

“Forgive me, my love,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Then Nelsen turned around and walked to his office with wobbly steps. He closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk. There was no hope left that he would ever be healthy again. The cancer had been eating away at his body silently and now it was too late. Nelson had prepared himself for death over the past weeks, and now he felt ready to go. The room was filled with the sweet smell of flowers standing in a vase on the mantel. He took a gun out of the top drawer of the desk and looked at it reverently. Sergio had given him the weapon many years ago, but he had never used it. Until today. Nelson’s eyes wandered to the window. It was a drizzly, dark day. The rain outside had just turned to snow. It was sticking to the wet grass, leaving a thin white film. His thoughts raced back to the days of his youth. Would his life have taken the same course if he had known then what he knew now? He shrugged his shoulders. His decision was made. He slowly loaded a bullet into the chamber, closed his eyes, pressed the gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

Today the giant Christmas tree was lit at Rockefeller Center. It shone with thousands of little lights over the city, buzzing with a pre-Christmas bustle. The temperature had dropped, and the rain of the past days had turned into thick, wet snowflakes.

Nick Kostidis stood at his office window with a cup of coffee and stared into space. They had all worked through the night. Lloyd Connors had temporarily declared Nick’s office an improvised command center for the planned operation. The preparations for the first strike were in full swing. Connors had ordered his most trusted staff members to city hall the very same night, and they started analyzing the documents that Alex had procured for them. Some of the names on the bank statements were unfamiliar, but it was clear that these people also held important positions. Nick and Connors agreed that they needed to act as quickly as possible so Vitali wouldn’t gain any additional advantage. They called Attorney General Gordon Engels that same night and briefly explained the politically charged case to him. Nick knew Engels personally, and he had no doubts about his integrity. Engels intended to come to New York in person the very next morning with his best people. Since it was clear to Nick and Connors that they couldn’t risk bringing in the NYPD due to Jerome Harding’s involvement, they had turned to the FBI for assistance. FBI Deputy Director Tate Jenkins informed them that he would arrive in the city in the early morning, accompanied by two agents from a special division of the FBI dealing with investigations of public officials.

Nick drank the last sip of coffee and grimaced. He used to love days like this. He always found the tree-lighting one of his most pleasant duties, but he had a hard time focusing on the hundred-foot-tall Norway spruce in Rockefeller Center today. He had sent other city hall representatives to various events in the city’s boroughs, and he would stop by Rockefeller Center in the late afternoon. He had caught himself thinking that he should have called Mary last night to tell her that he probably wouldn’t make it home. During his stint as a US attorney, he’d had to do that more than once. But it stung when he realized that no one was waiting for him anymore. Nick let out a tormented sigh. He felt a permeating sense of inadequacy joined with his feelings of pain and loneliness. He knew how silly it was to imagine that Alex felt more for him than mere sympathy. At thirty-eight, she was sixteen years younger than he was. He had read a lot into her sympathy. He probably felt more affection for the young woman than she did for him, which disturbed him; he feared that his affection could cloud his sense of judgment.

“I still can’t understand it,” Connors said, interrupting Nick’s train of thought. He had put his feet up on the table and rolled up his sleeves. Like all of the others in the room, he had bloodshot eyes and sipped at one of the countless cups of coffee that he had consumed over the course of the night.

“This could turn out to be the biggest scandal since Watergate.”

“It certainly seems like it,” Nick said as he turned away from the window. “I just hope it’s enough to put Vitali behind bars once and for all.”

“It will be, believe me! He’ll never get out of prison!” Connors laughed grimly, but Nick just sighed.

He had thought the same thing many times before, but every time Vitali had managed to squirm free like a fish from the net. He had an army of highly paid and extremely smart lawyers who knew every loophole in the law. They’d probably succeed again in getting him off the hook. But it would damage his empire significantly if there were no more judges, senators, police commissioners, and state attorneys to cover his back. Nick was surprised to notice that it didn’t mean as much to him to bring Vitali to court. It was much more important to him that Alex was safe.

Connors stood up and walked over to the large whiteboard where they had written the names of all the people who appeared to be involved in this scandal. His initial skepticism had turned into euphoria and excitement. He worked with total commitment. Looking at the younger man, Nick was briefly reminded of himself. He was exactly the same way back in the day! He had worked day and night for weeks on end to accomplish his goal. Similar to Connors, he could motivate his employees and get the best work out of them. Yes, Connors was certainly the right man for this operation. He wasn’t influenced by personal emotion but proceeded with the logic and clear calculation of a US attorney.

“We’ll paralyze half of the city,” Connors continued. “It’ll affect almost every administrative body. Vitali has pulled them all to his side. It’s incredible! Engels and Jenkins will be shocked when they see this!”

“I hope so,” Nick said.

“What do you mean?” Connors looked at him in surprise.

“What I mean is that I hope that hasn’t also bought someone like Engels.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Nothing surprises me anymore.” Nick ran his hand though his hair. “Before, I would have put my hand in the fire for Harding or Judge Whitewater.”

“Hmm,” Connors said, scratching his chin pensively, “I’ll definitely pay a visit to de Lancie with two US marshals today and let him know that we suspect him of corruption. My intuition tells me that he would do anything to save his ass. At the very least, he’ll bow out of the Sontheim investigation.”

He sat down again and took a bite of a bagel.

“We’ll warn him that we’re informing the attorney general. And we’ll do the same thing with Judge Whitewater, Governor Rhodes, and the senators.”

“What about Harding?” Nick asked. “He’s dangerous. He’ll vehemently defend himself.”

“Harding is a driving force in the St. John homicide investigation,” Connors said after thinking for a moment. “He can do some serious damage if we leave him unchecked.”

“But Vitali could become suspicious if de Lancie and Harding suddenly get sick,” Nick said. “You should leave him alone for a couple of days. I think it’s more important to contact the SEC investigation unit. I could call Rob Dreyfus. We cooperated with him back when we investigated the Bahamian banks. Now he’s the government representative for the SEC.”

Connors’s staff member Tracy Taylor entered the office.

“What’s up, Tracy?” Connors asked. “Did you find anything about this lawyer from California?”

“Yes,” the young woman said, frowning apologetically. “I’m afraid that someone else got to him before us. Someone set his house on fire two nights ago. The police found a burned body that was most likely that of Sturgess’s girlfriend. They initiated a search for John Sturgess after he didn’t show up at his office yesterday. A surfer found his body close to the pier in Newport Beach two hours ago.”

“Oh shit,” Connors said. Nick just raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t the first time that he’d seen the silencing of a witness.

“Nick,” Frank Cohen said as he entered the room, “Mr. Engels and Mr. Jenkins just arrived.”

“Great,” Connors said gleefully, rubbing his hands eagerly, “let’s get this party started.”

Justin had booked a double room with a view at a five-star hotel on Lake Zurich under the names of Frank and Emily Chambers. There was an international warrant out for German citizen Alex Sontheim for suspected homicide, but no one would care if an American couple booked a hotel room—even if the husband never showed up. Alex almost fell asleep in the taxi that drove her from Zurich’s Kloten Airport. Throughout the flight, she was frightened that someone would discover she was traveling under a fake passport, but nothing happened. Furthermore, her transformation was perfect. When she caught her relection in the mirror, Alex could hardly believe that the woman with the short dark curls and blue eyes was her. After almost seventy-two hours without sleep, she longed for a hot bath and a comfortable bed.

There was complete silence as Lloyd Connors finished his report. Gordon Engels and Tate Jenkins had showed up with three US marshals, Deputy Thomas J. Spooner, Deputy Randy Khazaeli, and Deputy Joe Stewart; and three FBI agents, Samuel Ramirez, Jeffrey Quinn, and Steve O’Brien. Everyone, including Nick, Frank, and Connors’s staff, sat at the mayor’s conference table.

“So these are the facts that we’ve gathered so far,” Connors said, looking around the table. “It appears that Vitali has been bribing almost every important man in New York City and Albany for years. We have everyone listed here: the governor, senators, the police commissioner of New York City, the US attorney of the Southern District, federal judges, city council members, officers of the Securities and Exchange Commission, and even officials from the Department of State, the Department of Justice, and the Department of Commerce in Washington.”

“Unbelievable,” Engels commented after a brief silence. He was a skinny, gray-haired man with alert eyes behind thick glasses.

Jenkins remained skeptical. “How credible is this information?” he wanted to know.

“Very credible,” Connors replied.

“I’m afraid,” Engels said with a frown, knocking his knuckles on the copies of the bank statements, “that this is going to be an enormous scandal. We don’t know what might happen when the people find out that almost every high-ranking official in New York accepted bribes.”

“Before I take concrete action,” Jenkins added, “I still need to talk to Mr. Horner. I can’t move ahead with a case this huge without his approval.”

Nick and Connors exchanged a glance. Engels and Jenkins seemed to be anything but delighted about the prospect of uncovering such a huge corruption scandal.

“In my opinion, it’s imperative to act with urgency.” Connors sat down. “Vitali hasn’t just bribed these people. We have the written testimony of a man who did the dirty work for him. This man was shot last Thursday night. The lawyer who recorded his statement was killed two days ago. If Vitali gets wind of the fact that we’re on his heels, he’ll cover up his tracks and more people may die.”

“What was the name of the man who was shot?” Gordon Engels inquired.

“His name was Zachary St. John.”

“Oh,” Jenkins said, raising his eyebrows, “the investment banker who was killed by his accomplice?”

“He wasn’t killed by Alex Sontheim, but by Vitali’s people,” Connors replied, hardly suppressing his impatience. “Alex Sontheim is a threat to Vitali. That’s why he’s trying to put the blame on her for this murder.”

“Do you have any evidence, Connors?”

Jenkins leaned back. The deputy US attorney threw him a quick glance.

“Nick,” he said, “could you please explain this?”

Nick cleared his throat and sat up straight. He hadn’t said a word yet, but he observed the reactions of Engels and Jenkins closely. Jenkins was hard to read, just like most FBI people. His face remained emotionless. Nick knew he needed to convince Jenkins how dangerous Vitali was. Briefly, he explained why he seriously doubted that Alex Sontheim had committed St. John’s murder. He repeated in summary what Justin Savier had told him the night before, and he finally voiced his suspicion that Vitali had been shot by Colombian drug dealers in July of last year.

“How do you know all of this, Nick?” Engels asked in astonishment.

“I’ve been dealing with Vitali for many years now,” Nick replied, “and prosecuted him myself at least a dozen times for various crimes. He managed to squirm free every time. I know him. I know his methods. I know his business. In July, I was sure that I would finally get my hands on Vitali. The same night that someone shot at him, his son was arrested during an illegal raid to clear out a building in the Bronx. As soon as I heard about it, I went to the precinct and—to my surprise—Mr. de Lancie was already there, even though everyone knows he prefers office work. He acted strangely for a US attorney, and I asked him which side of the law he was on. Cesare Vitali was then found hanged in his cell. The next day, a mysterious terrorist appeared and threatened to contaminate groceries with anthrax spores. On top of that, the man who allegedly shot Vitali turned himself in to the police and immediately made a confession. Both of these stories pushed the shots fired at Vitali from the headlines. It was a classic red herring, and it almost would have worked if I hadn’t voiced my suspicions publicly. I was so sure of myself, but my excitement caused me to disregard how ruthless and dangerous this man can be when threatened.”

Nick paused for a moment and then continued in a quiet voice.

“I personally had to learn through painful experience how close I had come to the truth.”

“No charges were brought against Vitali,” Engels interjected. “How can you be so sure that he was behind the bombing?”

“One of my closest employees was also on Vitali’s payroll.” Nick shrugged his shoulders. “Raymond Howard informed him about everything. He also died in the bombing.”

“But—” Jenkins started to speak, but Frank Cohen interrupted. He couldn’t take his boss’s agonized expression.

“Howard personally told me who was behind the bombing. Just before he died, he told me that Vitali ordered the assassination.”

“What exactly did he say?” Jenkins asked.

Frank took a deep breath, haunted by the memory. “He said that Vitali wanted to kill Nick.”

Everyone sitting around the conference table was stunned.

“Why didn’t you tell me before, Nick?” Connors asked.

“Because it wouldn’t have brought my family back to life,” the mayor replied. “When Frank told me about it, Ray was long dead. There were no witnesses. I didn’t have the strength to endure such an investigation.”

“Did Ms. Sontheim know about this?”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Why did she come to you, of all people, with this information?”

Nick didn’t answer right away. He remembered the morning at the beach in Montauk and the sight of the young woman with her blonde hair flowing in the wind.

“Nick?” Gordon Engels asked, and Nick noticed that everyone was staring at him.

“I met Ms. Sontheim through mutual friends,” he said. “She apparently trusted me because she knew that I’m an avowed opponent of Vitali.”

“When did you hear about the secret accounts?” Jenkins asked.

“On the day when Ms. Sontheim came to me at the monastery,” Nick replied. “She recognized the man who shot at me, and that had apparently finally convinced her that Vitali is a criminal.”

“Why didn’t you tell the US Attorney’s Office or the FBI earlier?”

“Mr. Jenkins,” Nick said and leaned forward, “I’ve told you already. I’ve been observing Sergio Vitali for fifteen years. I know who he is, what he’s capable of. During my time as the US attorney of this district, I witnessed bulletproof charges dropped many times because key witnesses suddenly lost their memory or disappeared. Vitali is the godfather of New York City—the last capo di tutti capi—and he’s more powerful than any Mafia boss before him. I didn’t want to put Ms. Sontheim’s life at risk.”

“And why did you change your mind now?”

Nick sighed. What was all this? Why was Jenkins acting like he was cross-examining a defendant?

“In my opinion, Ms. Sontheim is incorrectly under suspicion of murder,” he said in a firm voice, “and this is a diversionary tactic, just like the anthrax terrorist was.”

“Why do you believe that?” Jenkins was proving to be extraordinarily suspicious.

“Vitali and Levy owned a front organization called MPM, through which they operated a large-scale insider trading scheme with the help of Mr. St. John. The proceeds from these illegal transactions were funneled to secret accounts in the Caymans and the Bahamas. Ms. Sontheim provided us with the necessary information.”

Jenkins interrupted him. “So she—”

“If you could let me finish please,” Nick replied harshly. They briefly measured each other with cold looks. Jenkins frowned and signaled for him to continue. Nick recounted the instructions that Alex had received from the board of directors to inform them about every detail of her work. He mentioned the discovery that SeaStarFriends was the owner of MPM, and the busted takeover deal of Database by Whithers Computers.

“Ms. Sontheim found out that the owners of MPM were changed the very same night that St. John was murdered. Vitali and Levy decided to sacrifice their accomplice St. John in order to save their own skins.”

“But this is mere speculation!”

“I’m in possession of a commercial registry certificate dated April 14, 2000. At that time, Venture Capital SeaStarFriends LP was the sole owner of MPM. Another commercial registry certificate from the British Virgin Islands confirms that Mr. Vincent Levy and Mr. Sergio Vitali were the owners of this offshore company. According to electronic records, Mr. Zachary St. John and Ms. Alexandra Sontheim have been the registered owners for four days now.”

He paused and took a gulp of water.

“I’m pretty sure that St. John was shot because he refused to be sacrificed. Maybe he threatened to blow everything up. Just the fact that he prepared a complete written testimony proves that he was unsure about his boss’s loyalty. By blaming the murder on Ms. Sontheim, Vitali killed two birds with one stone. As a murder suspect, she’s hardly a credible witness, and while the press jumped on this murder, no one noticed how quickly the investigation of MPM’s bankruptcy fizzled out thanks to Vitali’s connections at the SEC. That’s pretty clever, isn’t it?”

“If there’s a case here,” Jenkins noted coolly, “it constitutes a criminal offense, as a conscious and willful deceit of the FBI and the US Attorney’s Office.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what it is, in my opinion,” Nick affirmed.

“But the police commissioner himself involved the FBI in the investigation.”

“Harding is also on Vitali’s payroll,” Connors reminded him. “It’s also in his interest that these bribes don’t become public.”

“Nick, do you know where Ms. Sontheim is at the moment?” Engels interjected.

“Unfortunately, I don’t.” Nick shook his head. “I only know that Vitali has a lot of people searching for her. She won’t live much longer if he manages to get his hands on her.”

Everyone in the room fell silent. They needed some time to process the facts.

“If we keep ignoring the corruption in this city, then Vitali will continue his operations,” Nick said emphatically. “We need to blow this scandal up. The public’s reaction is completely secondary.”

“I’d still like to check your witness’s credibility before I take further action,” Jenkins insisted.

“I don’t know where she is,” Nick replied in a harsh tone. “I don’t even know whether she’ll appear again. The only thing I know is that Vitali spends every minute we waste doing nothing covering his tracks further.”

“The evidence that we have against him is sufficient,” Connors said. “Once we confront these people with our suspicion of corruption, they’ll certainly provide the evidence we need to nail Vitali.”

All eyes were resting expectantly on the deputy director of the FBI, who finally stood up.

“I need to call Mr. Horner,” he said and walked over to Nick’s desk. Nick and Connors looked at each other. If the FBI didn’t cooperate or if it even hindered their work, they had little chance of success, even if the Department of Justice, as represented by Attorney General Engels, was on their side. Vitali would find out they were after him and he’d slip away again. Their advantage was that he didn’t know yet that a storm was brewing over him. They needed to act quickly. They had already wasted too much time.

“Mr. Kostidis,” Jenkins said after being on the telephone for a while, “Mr. Horner wants to talk to you.”

Nick took the phone. He repeated a short version of the story to the director of the FBI, who then asked him to pass the phone back to Jenkins. Nick felt his heart beating. He remembered this feeling from the courtroom, when he had presented his closing arguments and sat waiting for the jury’s decision. Just as he had with the many criminal court proceedings he’d worked on as an attorney, he had done everything he could. The final decision was out of his hands. Nick walked over to his chair, sat down, and closed his eyes. It was dead silent in the room except for Jenkins’s muted voice. As the deputy director of the FBI finished his call and put the receiver on the handle, Nick looked over at him. He instantly knew what decision he had made. The relief made him tremble inside. Horner had given his okay. The FBI would support them in their operation to take down Sergio Vitali. His years of experience had taught Nick how to read people’s decisions in their faces.

“Mr. Horner will speak to the president,” Jenkins announced, “but he ordered us to take every necessary step to investigate this matter. He emphasized that we need to proceed as discreetly as possible, without any major press exposure.”

Connors could hardly suppress his triumphant grin.

“Mr. Connors,” Jenkins continued, “pay a visit to Mr. de Lancie today and tell him that he is suspended from his duties until further notice.”

Connors nodded.

“What’s the scope of the cooperation?” Engels inquired.

“Mr. Connors will lead the investigation,” Jenkins said. “Gordon, give him your best people. Increase your efforts to find Ms. Sontheim.”

“What about the arrest warrant?” Nick asked. He had hoped that they would repeal the warrant immediately.

“I’m not convinced of her innocence yet,” Jenkins replied curtly. “The arrest warrant won’t be repealed until we know for certain that she wasn’t involved in this man’s murder. If she should contact you, Mr. Kostidis, tell her that her presence is extremely important, and that we’ll take care of her protection.”

“She won’t return as long as she’s wanted for murder,” Nick replied.

“She’d better come back,” Jenkins said, looking at Nick coolly, “because I want to talk to her.”

Nick shrugged his shoulders. Then he threw a quick glance at his watch and stood up.

“If you’ll excuse me now,” he said, “I still have a few official events to attend.”

While Nick drove to Rockefeller Center, trying to hide his anxiety, Lloyd Connors headed to Greenwich, Connecticut, with the two US marshals, Spooner and Khazaeli. The three men walked through the accumulating snow toward the large, white house. The house, with its wraparound porch, was surrounded by magnificent old trees and had an extensive lawn. Connors briefly wondered why no one else had become suspicious long ago. There was no way that de Lancie could afford a house like this on his salary. John de Lancie opened the front door himself, and he turned pale when he saw Connors accompanied by two men.

“Hello, John,” Connors said in a calm voice, “these are Deputies Spooner and Khazaeli from the US Marshals Service. I apologize for disturbing you on a Sunday afternoon, but we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“What is this about?” de Lancie asked curtly. “You’re coming here at a rather inopportune time. Can’t we discuss this tomorrow morning at my office?”

“I’m afraid not,” Deputy Spooner said, “unless you want everyone to hear about it.”

“Hear about what?”

Spooner and Connors exchanged a glance.

“May we come in, John?” Connors asked politely.

“First, I’d like to know what this is all about.”

“As you wish.” Spooner shrugged his shoulders. “We have a reasonable suspicion that you’ve accepted bribes on multiple occasions.”

All of the color disappeared from the US attorney’s face. De Lancie stood there as if paralyzed, silently staring at the three men.

“May we come in?” Connors repeated.

“Yes…yes, of course,” de Lancie whispered and took a step back. “Let’s go to my study.”

John de Lancie only tried to deny the allegations for a few minutes. When Connors presented him with a copy of the bank statement from Levy & Villiers, he collapsed. With tears in his eyes, he admitted that he’d accepted bribes from Sergio Vitali. As quid pro quo, he had agreed to do Vitali a favor every now and then.

Lloyd Connors felt a dizzying sensation of triumph. Until this moment he’d feared that the mere existence of the bank statements wouldn’t be enough to prove that Vitali was handing out bribes, but de Lancie’s confession established the connection. Now everything was clear. The testimony of just a single person in court would cause a lot of trouble for Vitali, and there were plenty of others on the list who had been bought too. It was simply incredible. This seemed to be the first time that the US Attorney’s Office really had an airtight case against Sergio Vitali. Connors thought about the mountains of evidence against this man and all of the witnesses who’d suddenly disappeared or lost their memory. He also remembered, with a quiet sense of guilt, that many people at the US Attorney’s Office—himself included—had sneered at Nick Kostidis’s futile efforts to prove Vitali’s crimes. But Nick had been right all along.

De Lancie confessed to everything in a whimpering voice. It almost seemed as if he were relieved to have freed himself from this burden that had weighed on him for so many months.

“What’s going to happen now?” he asked, trembling.

“That depends on you, John,” Connors said, shaking his head. “It’s your choice. If you resign from office and serve as a witness, then we could possibly refrain from charging you with corruption. Otherwise—”

“No, no,” de Lancie interrupted him quickly. “I’ll do it. I’ve made a mistake, a huge mistake. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I don’t want my family to suffer from this.”

“Your name will be in the headlines,” Connors said. “You’ll have to live with it. However, you won’t be charged and sentenced. If you cooperate with us, then we might be able to prevent you from being disbarred.”

De Lancie’s face was as white as a sheet. Was he thinking that his ambitious plans for the future had been destroyed in a single blow? Connors knew that the job as US attorney for the Southern District was just a stepping-stone for big politics, but this dream seemed to be over now.

Connors opened his briefcase.

“Here’s a statement I’ve prepared for you. Read through it and sign if you agree with its content.”

De Lancie swallowed as he read the document.

“If I sign this, then I’m done,” he whispered. His hands were shaking.

“I can arrest you, John,” Connors said, “if you prefer. You have the right to remain silent. With a clever lawyer you might be able to squirm your way free from this mess, but it’ll take a long time and all the dirt will stick to you longer. You know what’s going to happen. Apart from the criminal proceedings, the IRS will knock on your door. And I’m pretty sure that it won’t be easy to explain to the IRS where you got the money to pay for this mansion and your children’s expensive schools.”

De Lancie broke into tears and covered his face with his hands. Without sympathy, the three men watched the US attorney sob like a little child.

“Will you sign it?”

“Yes… yes…” He slowly stood up and walked to his desk with wobbling steps. Without looking up, he signed the paper, admitting his guilt.

Connors waited for the ink to dry.

“You’ll call in sick tomorrow. Please don’t leave your house until further notice.”

“I’m under house arrest?”

“Yes,” Connors said as he stood up. “If Vitali contacts you, I advise you not to tell him anything about our conversation. We’re not after you, John, but a much bigger fish. We’ve tapped your telephone so that you won’t be tempted to stab us in the back.”

“I won’t do that,” de Lancie said, as he sat back down.

“I hope not. I don’t need to tell you what the consequences would be.”

De Lancie silently stared after the three men as tears ran down his cheeks. When his wife entered the study with a frightened expression, he made no effort to hide them.

John de Lancie was just the first on a long list of men who were paid unexpected visits on this Sunday afternoon. Tracy Taylor and Royce Shepard traveled all over the state of New York accompanied by US marshals, just like their boss. As Nick Kostidis had anticipated, all of the accused turned out to be cooperative. Sergio Vitali’s empire had started to shake, but he didn’t notice the tremors that were headed for him.