"In return, I will see to it that you are moved to a mental health facility."

"Mental health? But I'm not crazy."

"I a.s.sure you, the conditions at penal sanatoriums are considerably superior to those at correctional facilities such as this one. The account numbers, please." He handed Grace a piece of paper with a Credit Suisse letterhead. Grace glanced at it and sighed, closing her eyes. The drugs made her sleepy. As frightened as she was of this man, it was a struggle to stay awake.

"John Merrivale," she croaked. "It's John Merrivale. He took the money. He knows where it is. Ask him."

Gavin Williams's eyes narrowed. How typical of a woman! To try to shift the blame, just as Eve blamed the serpent when she polluted the world with her sin. How stupid did Grace think he was? Did she think the FBI hadn't looked into Merrivale, into all the staff at Quorum? How typical of a woman! To try to shift the blame, just as Eve blamed the serpent when she polluted the world with her sin. How stupid did Grace think he was? Did she think the FBI hadn't looked into Merrivale, into all the staff at Quorum?

"Don't play games with me, Mrs. Brookstein. I want those account numbers."

Grace was about to reason with him, but then she thought, What's the point? He won't listen. He's insane. If anyone needs the sanatorium, it's this guy, not me. What's the point? He won't listen. He's insane. If anyone needs the sanatorium, it's this guy, not me.

"I know what you're doing. You're holding out for more." Gavin Williams positively glowed with rage. "Well, you won't get it, do you understand me? You won't get it!"

Grace looked around for the nurse but there was no one. I'm alone with this nutcase! I'm alone with this nutcase!

"There will be no appeal. No parole. It's the sanatorium or you will die die in this place. in this place. Die! Die! Give me those account numbers!" Give me those account numbers!"

"I told you! I. Don't. Know. Them." Exhausted, Grace fell back on the pillow. She was losing the battle for consciousness. Sleep engulfed her.

Gavin Williams watched her eyes flicker and close.

Her neck is so tiny. So fragile. Like a willow twig. I could reach out and snap it. Just like that. Put my hands around her lying, thieving throat and crush the devil inside.

There were no other patients. No staff. He and Grace were alone.

No one would know. I could do it in a split second. Smite the wicked, purge the evildoer of sin.

In a trance, Gavin Williams reached his hands out in front of him, flexing his long, bony fingers open and closed, open and closed. He imagined Grace's windpipe collapsing beneath them, felt his excitement building.

"I know what you're thinking."

The nurse's voice made him jump physically out of his seat.

"Your fingers. I know what you're thinking."

Gavin was silent.

"You're a smoker, aren't you? I was the same when I gave up. You never stop thinking about it, do you? Not for a second."

It took Gavin a moment to register what she was saying. She thinks I'm grasping for an imaginary cigarette She thinks I'm grasping for an imaginary cigarette. As if he, Gavin Williams, would ever be so weak as to succ.u.mb to an addiction. Out loud he smiled and said, "No. You never do."

"Believe me, I get it," chirped the nurse. "It's like an itch you can't scratch. There's a courtyard outside if you're desperate."

Gavin Williams retrieved the Credit Suisse paper from Grace's sleeping fingers and slipped it back into his briefcase.

"Thank you. I am not desperate."

But he was.

AFTER TWO WEEKS G GRACE RETURNED TO her cell on A Wing. Warden McIntosh had intended to transfer her back to her original cell with the Latinas on the less austere C Wing, but Grace became so agitated that the psychiatrists recommended the prisoner be allowed to have her way. The warden was baffled. her cell on A Wing. Warden McIntosh had intended to transfer her back to her original cell with the Latinas on the less austere C Wing, but Grace became so agitated that the psychiatrists recommended the prisoner be allowed to have her way. The warden was baffled.

"But Cora Budds a.s.saulted her. She's one of our most violent inmates. I don't understand. Why would Grace want to go back to that?"

The psychiatrist shrugged. "Familiarity?"

Not for the first time, James McIntosh reflected on how little he understood the workings of the female mind.

Grace's fellow inmates viewed the situation more crudely. "No wonder Cora and Karen look so excited. Did you hear? Grace is comin' back to A Wing. Looks like the oyster bar has reopened, ladies!"

In fact, when the time came, Cora Budds greeted Grace coolly. Something had changed about Grace. The old fear, the wariness, had gone. In its place was a calmness, a confidence that made Cora uneasy.

"So you made it, huh?"

"I made it."

Karen Willis was more demonstrative, flinging her arms around Grace and hugging her tightly. "Why didn't you talk to me? If things were that bad? You shoulda talked to me. I could've helped."

Karen Willis did not know what it was that drew her to Grace Brookstein. Part of it she put down to her stubborn streak. Grace was the underdog at Bedford Hills, a pariah, hated by screws and inmates alike. Karen Willis did not believe in running with the herd. Besides, Karen knew what it felt like to be an outsider, betrayed by one's own friends and family. When she shot her sister Lisa's abusive boyfriend, a bully and a rapist who had terrorized Lisa for six torturous years, Karen expected her family to rally around. Instead they'd turned on her like a pack of hyenas. Lisa played the grief-stricken widow: "We had our problems, but I loved Billy." "We had our problems, but I loved Billy." She even testified against Karen in court, making her out to be an angry, violent person who had a "vendetta" against men, implying that she'd acted not out of sisterly love but out of s.e.xual rejection. She even testified against Karen in court, making her out to be an angry, violent person who had a "vendetta" against men, implying that she'd acted not out of sisterly love but out of s.e.xual rejection. "Karen always wanted Bill. I could see it. But Billy wasn't interested." "Karen always wanted Bill. I could see it. But Billy wasn't interested." The prosecutor changed the charges against Karen from manslaughter to second-degree murder. Karen never spoke to any of her family again. The prosecutor changed the charges against Karen from manslaughter to second-degree murder. Karen never spoke to any of her family again.

But Karen Willis's affection for Grace Brookstein ran deeper than their shared abandonment. Lisa had been right about one thing. Karen had never been much of a fan of men. Short, weasel-faced rapists like her sister's boyfriend Billy had never been Karen's type. Fragile, innocent blondes like Grace Brookstein, on the other hand, with her wide-set eyes and slender, supple gymnast's limbs, her soft skin and smattering of girlish freckles across the nose, that was another matter entirely. Karen Willis was as far removed from the stereotypical predatory prison d.y.k.e as it was possible to get. Jokes about "oyster bars" made her want to gag. She had no intention of forcing herself on Grace. The girl was quite clearly (a) straight and (b) grieving. Unfortunately, neither of those things changed the fact that Karen Willis was in love with her. When she heard Grace had tried to kill herself, Karen collapsed. When they told her Grace was going to live, that the worst was over, Karen wept with relief.

Grace hugged her friend.

"You couldn't have helped, Karen. Not then. But perhaps you can help now."

"How? Tell me what you need, Grace. I'm here for you."

"I know who framed me and my husband. What I don't know is how he did it. I need evidence. Proof. And I don't know where to begin."

A smile lit up Karen's face. Perhaps she could help Grace after all?

"I have an idea."

DAVEY B BUCCOLA LOOKED AT HIS WATCH and stamped his feet against the cold. and stamped his feet against the cold. I must be crazy, coming out to this G.o.dforsaken place on some wild-goose chase for Karen. I must be crazy, coming out to this G.o.dforsaken place on some wild-goose chase for Karen.

Davey Buccola was tall, dark and, if not quite handsome, certainly better looking than the vast majority of his profession. He had olive skin, faintly scarred from acute teenage acne, intelligent hazel eyes and strong, masculine features dominated by an aquiline nose that gave him a hawklike, predatory look. Women were attracted to Davey. At least, they were until he took them home to the shoddy two-bedroom apartment in Tuckahoe he still shared with his mother, or picked them up in his twelve-year-old Honda Accord, the same car he'd been driving when he graduated from high school. Private investigation was interesting work, dangerous and challenging. But it didn't make anybody rich. It wasn't like Magnum Magnum, P.I. P.I.

Davey Buccola had had a crush on Karen Willis since they were kids. He felt bad when they locked her up and her family turned their backs on her. The s.h.i.t-for-brains who Karen killed had had it coming. But Davey wasn't here just for Karen's sake. He was here for his own. He needed money, pure and simple. And Grace Brookstein had money.

At last the gates of the prison opened and the visitors were taken through security. Davey Buccola had visited numerous correctional facilities, so he knew the drill. Coat off, shoes off, jewelry off, scanner, metal detector, dogs. Kind of like catching a plane, only without the luggage and the duty-free stores. Better for people watching, though. You could tell the moms right away, the tired slump of the shoulders, the resignation in the faces, aged from years of sacrifice and pain. There were a couple of husbands, deadbeats most of 'em, overweight, long-haired, telltale signs of drug use. But overall there were very few men in the visiting line. It was all women, women and children, braving the cold to make the depressing journey to Bedford Hills in hopes of keeping their families together.

Davey thought, Women are a lot less selfish than men. Women are a lot less selfish than men.

Then he thought, They're also a lot more conniving. Men lie when they have to. Women do it for kicks. They're also a lot more conniving. Men lie when they have to. Women do it for kicks. He would listen to Grace Brookstein. But he would take nothing she said at face value. He would listen to Grace Brookstein. But he would take nothing she said at face value.

Davey walked into the visitors' room and sat down at a wooden table. A scrawny little kid came and sat down opposite him.

"I think you have the wrong seat. I'm here to meet Mrs. Brookstein."

The kid smiled. "I'm Grace Brookstein. How do you do, Mr. Buccola?"

Davey shook her hand and tried not to look shocked. "I'm good, thanks."

Jesus H. What happened to her? She's only been in here a month. The Grace Brookstein he'd expected to meet was the fur-clad vixen from the courtroom, glamorous, groomed, dripping in diamonds and disdain. The girl in front of him now looked about fourteen, with close-cropped hair and a pale urchin's face. She had a broken nose, deep shadows under the eyes, and she looked like she hadn't eaten in weeks. The orange jumpsuit she was wearing swamped her tiny frame. When Davey shook her hand, he noticed the skin was almost transparent. The Grace Brookstein he'd expected to meet was the fur-clad vixen from the courtroom, glamorous, groomed, dripping in diamonds and disdain. The girl in front of him now looked about fourteen, with close-cropped hair and a pale urchin's face. She had a broken nose, deep shadows under the eyes, and she looked like she hadn't eaten in weeks. The orange jumpsuit she was wearing swamped her tiny frame. When Davey shook her hand, he noticed the skin was almost transparent.

"Karen said you need some help."

Grace dispensed with the pleasantries. "I want you to help me prove that John Merrivale framed me and my husband."

Karen hadn't mentioned anything about this. this. "She needs you to do a little digging," those had been her exact words. Nothing about Grace Brookstein being a total f.u.c.king fruit loop who'd convinced herself her old man was framed. Jesus. Every man and his dog knew that Lenny Brookstein was as crooked as a two-dollar bill. "She needs you to do a little digging," those had been her exact words. Nothing about Grace Brookstein being a total f.u.c.king fruit loop who'd convinced herself her old man was framed. Jesus. Every man and his dog knew that Lenny Brookstein was as crooked as a two-dollar bill.

"John Merrivale. Wasn't he the number two at Quorum? The guy the FBI has been working with?"

Reading his thoughts, Grace said, "I understand your skepticism. I don't expect you to believe me. All I'm asking is that you look into it. I'm doing as much research as I can from the library here, but I'm sure you appreciate my resources are limited."

"Look, Mrs. Brookstein."

"Grace."

"Look, Grace, I'd like to help you. But I gotta be honest. The FBI has been through Quorum's finances with a fine-tooth comb. If there were any evidence that Merrivale had framed your husband, any evidence at all, don't you think they'd have found it?"

"Not necessarily. Not if they trust him. John's been working with with the FBI, Mr. Buccola. He's part of the investigative team. Don't you see? He's convinced them he's one of their own. Believe me, John Merrivale can be very plausible." the FBI, Mr. Buccola. He's part of the investigative team. Don't you see? He's convinced them he's one of their own. Believe me, John Merrivale can be very plausible."

"Plausible's one thing. Stealing seventy billion billion dollars and stashing it where no one can find it, not the SEC, not the smartest brains at the bureau, dollars and stashing it where no one can find it, not the SEC, not the smartest brains at the bureau, no one no one...some might say that's impossible."

Grace smiled. "I believe that's what my attorney told the jury. And yet here I am."

Davey Buccola smiled back. Touche. Touche.

"I've never even opened a bank statement, Mr. Buccola. John Merrivale's a financial wizard. If I could do it, couldn't he?"

Davey Buccola thought, I underestimated her. She's not a fruit loop. Misguided, maybe. But she's n.o.body's fool. I underestimated her. She's not a fruit loop. Misguided, maybe. But she's n.o.body's fool. "All right, Mrs. Brookstein. I'll do some digging for you. But I'm warning you now, don't believe in foregone conclusions. They're against my religion." "All right, Mrs. Brookstein. I'll do some digging for you. But I'm warning you now, don't believe in foregone conclusions. They're against my religion."

"I understand."

"If I take this case, I'll take it with an open mind. I'm digging for the truth. You might not like what I find."

"I'll take my chances."

"Another thing you should know: nothing's going to happen quickly. This is a complicated case. A lot of the information is cla.s.sified. I have FBI sources, guys in the police and the SEC who'll talk to me, but it's slow work."

Grace looked at the four walls around her. "Time's about the one thing I have left, Mr. Buccola. I'm not going anywhere."

Davey Buccola shook her hand. "In that case, Mrs. Brookstein, I'm your man."

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, HONEY? C COME back to bed." back to bed."

Harry Bain looked at his wife's voluptuous naked body sprawled out across the sheets. Then he looked at his watch. Six Six A.M A.M. f.u.c.king Quorum.

"I can't. We've got a team meeting at seven."

"Can't you say you're sick?"

"Not really. I called the meeting."

The whole of America hated Lenny Brookstein. But at that moment no one hated him quite as much as Harry Bain.

I can outsmart a street fighter like Brookstein, Bain had reasoned, when he first took the case. Bain had reasoned, when he first took the case. It's not like we're looking for a pair of cuff links. Seventy-five It's not like we're looking for a pair of cuff links. Seventy-five billion billion dollars is missing. That's like trying to hide a country. "Excuse me, but has anyone seen Guatemala? Some dead Jewish guy from Queens mislaid it last June." dollars is missing. That's like trying to hide a country. "Excuse me, but has anyone seen Guatemala? Some dead Jewish guy from Queens mislaid it last June."

Of course he would find the money. How could he not?

Yet here he was, a year later, with nothing. Harry Bain, Gavin Williams and their team had commandeered Quorum's old offices as a base for their investigation. With John Merrivale's help, the task force had spent millions, chasing leads all over the world, from New York to Grand Cayman to Paris to Singapore. Between them, Harry Bain, Gavin Williams and John Merrivale had clocked more air miles than a migrating flock of Canadian geese, produced enough paper to wipe out an entire rain forest, conducted thousands of interviews and seized countless bank records. If Lenny Brookstein took a s.h.i.t between January 2001 and June 2009, the FBI had a record of it. But still no G.o.dd.a.m.n money.

Their failure wasn't from lack of effort. Gavin Williams might be a card-carrying weirdo but you couldn't fault the guy for commitment. As far as Harry Bain could tell, Williams had no friends or family, no personal life at all. He lived and breathed Quorum, following the impenetrable, circuitous paper trail of trades Lenny Brookstein had left behind him with the dogged bloodl.u.s.t of a fox hound. Then there was John Merrivale, the Quorum insider-turned-police-a.s.set. John was an odd bird, too. So shy he was almost autistic, the guy still teared up whenever Lenny Brookstein's name was mentioned. In the beginning, Harry had wondered whether John might be implicated in the fraud himself. But the more he learned about Lenny Brookstein's business practices, the less he suspected John Merrivale, or Andrew Preston, or any of the other employees. Brookstein was so secretive he made the CIA look indiscreet. Surrounded by people, a social animal to the last, at the end of the day Lenny had trusted no one. No one except his wife.

Rumors on the team were that John Merrivale was unhappy at home. Harry Bain had met Caroline Merrivale once and could well believe it. That b.i.t.c.h probably wore stilettos and a whip to bed. Or a gestapo uniform. No wonder John was happy to put in long hours on the task force. So would I be if I was married to Madam Whiplash. So would I be if I was married to Madam Whiplash.

"OKAY, FOLKS. WHAT HAVE WE GOT?"

The elite group of FBI agents who formed the Quorum task force stared at their boss dejectedly. One joker piped up, "Gavin's thinking of heading out to Bedford Hills again, right, Gav? He's gonna use his legendary charm with the laydeez laydeez to get Mrs. B to sing like a bird." to get Mrs. B to sing like a bird."

The rest of the group sn.i.g.g.e.red. Gavin Williams's obsession with "breaking" Grace Brookstein had become a running joke. Either Grace didn't know where Lenny had stashed the cash, or she knew but she wasn't telling. Either way, Williams was beating a dead horse and everyone could see it but him.

Gavin didn't join in the laughter. "I have no plans to return to Bedford, Stephen. Your information is incorrect."

The joker murmured to his partner, "'Your information is incorrect.' Is he human? He sounds like R2 f.u.c.king D2."

"No kidding," his partner replied more loudly. "'Help me, Obi-Wan Brookstein. You're my only hope!'"

More laughter.