Harry Bain wanted to get back to Antananarivo last night, but he'd left too late. Reluctantly, he'd settled in for a night's sleep in the park.

His phone buzzed five or six times, like a dying wasp, then fell silent. Thanks to his trusty foam earplugs, Harry Bain slept on, oblivious.

GRACE SLIPPED OFF HER BACKPACK. INSIDE were a length of rope, pliers, a stick of chalk, a square black piece of cloth and a Dictaphone tape recorder. were a length of rope, pliers, a stick of chalk, a square black piece of cloth and a Dictaphone tape recorder.

Tying a simple slipknot at one end of the rope, she threw it over the lowest part of Le Cocon's fortresslike outer wall, aiming for a metal rod that jutted out below one of the bathroom windows. La.s.soing was harder than it looked. It took Grace more than ten minutes to snag the rod, minutes in which she looked anxiously over her shoulder for early-morning pedestrians. The dawn had broken slowly at first, but now daylight seemed to flood the alley, shining on Grace as aggressively as any police flashlight. Rubbing chalk onto her hands, she gripped the rope and began pulling herself up. The wall was as smooth as newly shaven skin and slick with moisture from the air. Even with her climbing shoes, it was tricky to get a firm grip. With every slip, every lost footing, the strain on Grace's triceps increased fivefold till her arms started to shake. Halfway up she thought desperately, I'm not going to make it! I can't hold on! I'm not going to make it! I can't hold on! She could feel the rope chafing against her palms, the sweat of her efforts washing away the chalk. She started to slide, imperceptibly at first, but then faster and more surely, back down toward the street. She could feel the rope chafing against her palms, the sweat of her efforts washing away the chalk. She started to slide, imperceptibly at first, but then faster and more surely, back down toward the street.

Voices. Girls' voices, or young women. They were giggling, gossiping to one another in French. Grace couldn't make out what they were saying, but it didn't matter. Their conversation grew louder. Girls' voices, or young women. They were giggling, gossiping to one another in French. Grace couldn't make out what they were saying, but it didn't matter. Their conversation grew louder. They'll be here any second! They'll see me! They'll be here any second! They'll see me!

Grace looked up. There was another fifteen feet to the top of the wall. Her hands were still slipping, her feet scrabbling for purchase. The voices were even louder now. Gripping the rope, Grace forced herself to move upward. She had no energy left, yet somehow she kept going, powered by determination. It wasn't about saving herself. It was about destroying John Merrivale.

On the other side of that wall is the man who killed Lenny. The man who took everything from you. He's living in YOUR house, hiding in YOUR sanctuary, spending YOUR money.

Rage was like a turbocharger in Grace's chest, pulling her up, propelling her on. Her hands were bleeding now, blood mingling with the sweat on her palms as the rope lacerated her skin, but Grace felt nothing. She could see the top. She could touch it! Swinging her legs over to the other side of the wall, she pulled the rope up behind her. The girls were directly below her now, three of them. Dressed in supermarket uniforms, they were on their way to work. Grace waited for them to stop and point. The bottom of the rope was less than two feet from where they were walking. But they continued on their way, laughing and joking with one another. Happy. Happy. Grace felt a pang of envy mingled with her relief as she watched their backs disappear from sight. Grace felt a pang of envy mingled with her relief as she watched their backs disappear from sight.

Then she pulled up the rope, turned around and lowered herself down into Le Cocon's courtyard garden.

MITCH LOOKED OUT OF THE PLANE WINDOW. There was nothing to see but clouds, thick and gray and impenetrable. Next to him a young woman whimpered with fear as the aircraft bucked like a wild bull, juddering its way through the turbulent sky. There was nothing to see but clouds, thick and gray and impenetrable. Next to him a young woman whimpered with fear as the aircraft bucked like a wild bull, juddering its way through the turbulent sky.

Mitch tried not to think about Grace, or John Merrivale, or what might already have happened back in Antananarivo. If this were New York, he'd radio the local police for backup, get them to deal with it. But the last thing he wanted was a bunch of trigger-happy Madagascans storming Le Cocon.

Where the h.e.l.l was Harry Bain when you needed him?

GRACE EDGED HER WAY AROUND THE courtyard with her back to the wall. Le Cocon was a vast house, a maze of corridors and bedrooms and little hidden gardens and terraces. She would begin the search inside the house, but first she had to disable the security alarm, cameras and phone line. courtyard with her back to the wall. Le Cocon was a vast house, a maze of corridors and bedrooms and little hidden gardens and terraces. She would begin the search inside the house, but first she had to disable the security alarm, cameras and phone line.

Lenny used to complain about the archaic systems at Le Cocon. "Have you seen the wires out there? It looks like something from a bad seventies sci-fi movie." But he never got around to replacing them. Grace was banking on the fact that Jan Beerens wouldn't have gotten around to it either.

Edging toward the back kitchen door, she saw to her relief that he hadn't. One arthritic closed-circuit camera pointed toward the same old fuse box that had been there in her and Lenny's day. Approaching the camera from behind, Grace covered it with the black cloth she'd brought with her. Then, pulling out her pliers, she advanced toward the fuse box.

MITCH'S PLANE HIT THE TARMAC WITH a violent b.u.mp. The woman next to him made the sign of the cross and offered up a little prayer of thanks. a violent b.u.mp. The woman next to him made the sign of the cross and offered up a little prayer of thanks.

Mitch was not a religious man, but he, too, started to pray.

Don't let me be too late.

HARRY B BAIN RUBBED HIS EYES. FOR a moment he forgot where he was. He'd been in the middle of a wonderful dream. He was in New York at Sweetiepie, one of his favorite restaurants on Greenwich Avenue, salivating over a hot fudge sundae, when some A-hole started shaking him by the shoulders. a moment he forgot where he was. He'd been in the middle of a wonderful dream. He was in New York at Sweetiepie, one of his favorite restaurants on Greenwich Avenue, salivating over a hot fudge sundae, when some A-hole started shaking him by the shoulders.

"Camp's packing up. If you want a ride to the airport, you better get up now."

Madagascar. Isalo. John b.a.s.t.a.r.d Merrivale.

Gloomily, he reached for his phone. The red message light flashed at him reproachfully. Harry flipped it open and hit the key for voice mail.

"You have...seven new messages."

Seven?

He sat up and listened.

GRACE LEANED ON THE KITCHEN DOOR. It opened immediately. It opened immediately.

John must feel safe here. Like we did.

There were only two places in the world where she and Lenny had routinely left their doors unlocked: Madagascar and Nantucket. John had ruined the memory of both those places, poisoned them, like he poisoned everything he touched.

Hugging her hatred to her like a security blanket, Grace crossed the dark room. It was eerie. Above her head hung copper pots and pans, shadowy and immobile like a set of unloved puppets. In front of her the enormous triple-fronted cook's stove gleamed, pristine and untouched. Next to it, on the countertop, Grace noticed that someone had recently bought, unwrapped and plugged in a basic microwave oven. Its box could still be seen in the corner, propped on top of the trash can.

Typical. A single man moves into a house with a fully equipped gourmet kitchen and the first thing he does is buy himself a microwave.

Grace found herself wondering if John had used it yet, and if so, what he had prepared. She hoped it was delicious, whatever it was. It didn't seem right to eat a horrible last meal.

The inner kitchen door opened into a small flagstone pantry, which in turn led to stairs. These were originally the servants' stairs and they ran all the way from the cellar to the attic on the west side of the house. Grace drew her gun-it was Gavin Williams's gun but she thought of it as hers now-and started to climb.

The house was not just quiet. It was silent. Grace could hear her own breath, the soft rustle of her clothes as she moved, the creak of a water pipe. It was only a few days since she'd last been here, sitting in the library with the kindly Jan Beerens, but something seismic seemed to have happened to the place in the interim. It was more than just the absence of furniture and people. Beerens's staff had gone, and John had clearly moved in alone. It was as if the house itself had died. As if John's presence had forced all the life and the joy out of it, like alb.u.men from a straw-blown egg. All that was left was the sh.e.l.l.

Suddenly a door slammed. The noise was so loud and so unexpected, Grace opened her mouth to scream, but stopped herself, stifling the sound with her hands. She'd almost reached the second floor, but the noise had come from below, at ground level. As quietly as she could, Grace turned around.

On this floor, the door from the servants' stairs opened into a large, marble-floored atrium. It was shaped like a pentagon, with five floor-to-ceiling archways giving onto various reception rooms. The library and the study faced inward, toward Le Cocon's small central courtyard, but the dining and living rooms opened onto the main garden, each with a set of French doors. Grace stepped cautiously into the atrium, looking around her, listening for a second sound, some sign to guide her. She felt a soft breath of wind on her face. The drawing-room doors were open to the garden. Grace took a step toward them, then stopped.

There he was.

She saw him from behind, walking out into the garden, still in his pajamas and bathrobe. He had a coffee mug in one hand and a book in the other, and he looked like any tourist on vacation. His red hair was unkempt, sticking up at strange angles from where he'd slept on it. Grace was struck by how small he looked. How slight. How normal normal. If one were to form a mental picture of a brutal murderer, it would not be this harmless, shambling, middle-aged man.

She had not seen John in the flesh since her trial. Her last memory of him was his pained face as she was led from the dock. Don't worry, Don't worry, he mouthed to her. Grace thought back to the terror of those first days in custody, the van ride to Bedford, being beaten to near death by Cora Budds. Back then, she'd still believed John Merrivale would rescue her. He was her friend, her only friend. he mouthed to her. Grace thought back to the terror of those first days in custody, the van ride to Bedford, being beaten to near death by Cora Budds. Back then, she'd still believed John Merrivale would rescue her. He was her friend, her only friend.

She released the safety catch on the gun.

"John."

He didn't hear her. Grace moved closer, walking at first, then running.

"John!"

He turned around. At the sight of the gun, his face drained of color. The coffee mug fell from his hand, shattering into a thousand pieces on the paved stone of the terrace. Instinctively he moved to one side, covering his head with his hands. As he did so, Grace saw for the first time that he was not alone.

Behind him, sprawled out in a lawn chair, was another man. The second man was turned three-quarters away from Grace, facing the garden rather than back toward the house. At first she could see only the top of his head and his slippered feet stretched out in front of him, but still a shiver of familiarity shot through her. Something about his posture, his body language...I know you.

She stood transfixed as the man slowly turned. Even before she saw his face, she knew. The languid, unconcerned way he moved, as if the commotion behind him, and John Merrivale's cowering terror, didn't bother him in the least. Grace had met only one man with that confidence. That total, unshakable sangfroid.

"h.e.l.lo, Gracie." Lenny Brookstein smiled. "I've been waiting for you."

THIRTY-SEVEN.

GRACE WATCHED HER LIFE FLASH BEFORE her eyes. Was this a dream? Or a nightmare? Part of her wanted to touch Lenny, to stick her hands in his sides like a doubting Thomas and prove that he was real. But something made her hesitate. her eyes. Was this a dream? Or a nightmare? Part of her wanted to touch Lenny, to stick her hands in his sides like a doubting Thomas and prove that he was real. But something made her hesitate.

"I saw you! I saw your body." She was shaking. "I went to the morgue, for G.o.d's sake."

"Why don't you put down the gun?" Lenny's voice sounded soothing. Hypnotic. "We can talk."

Grace was about to do as he asked when John Merrivale took a step toward her. Instinctively she swung the gun in his direction and stepped back, her finger hovering over the trigger. "Don't move!" she shouted.

John stepped back.

"Sit down on that chair. Put your hands where I can see them."

John did as he was asked, sinking down into the lawn chair beside Lenny's.

Grace looked at Lenny. "You, too."

Lenny raised an eyebrow, in admiration as much as surprise. He, too, put his hands on his lap. Keeping the pistol trained on the pair of them, Grace reached into her backpack and pulled out the Dictaphone. She pressed the record b.u.t.ton and set it down on the ground between them.

"Talk," she commanded.

Lenny couldn't take his eyes off Grace's face. So beautiful. But she's changed. I suppose she had to. She's stronger. That sweet, trusting little girl could not have survived. So beautiful. But she's changed. I suppose she had to. She's stronger. That sweet, trusting little girl could not have survived.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. I want to know everything, Lenny. I want to know the truth."

Lenny Brookstein started talking.

THIRTY-EIGHT.

WHAT YOU HAVE TO REMEMBER, GRACE, is how long ago this all started. You were a tiny child when I founded Quorum. Four, maybe five years old. I'd had a couple of funds before that, made a little money, but I always knew Quorum would be different. I set out to rule the world and I did." is how long ago this all started. You were a tiny child when I founded Quorum. Four, maybe five years old. I'd had a couple of funds before that, made a little money, but I always knew Quorum would be different. I set out to rule the world and I did."

Lenny looked at John Merrivale and smiled. John smiled back, a look of blind adoration on his face. Grace remembered that look from the old days. He loves him. John's always loved Lenny. How could I have forgotten that? He loves him. John's always loved Lenny. How could I have forgotten that?

Lenny went on, warming to his theme. "In the early days of the fund, it was a struggle. It was the beginning of the nineties, the economy was in the tank, people were losing their jobs, their homes. No one wanted to invest. Remember now, I'd staked every cent I owned on Quorum. Every cent. If she went down I'd be back at the bottom. Poor again, in my forties. Penniless." Lenny's face darkened. "You can't imagine the fear, Gracie. How terrifying that was, coming from where I came from. The idea that I might have to go back, back to the dirt, the violence, the hunger. No. It wasn't going to happen to me." His said this angrily, almost as if it were Grace who had tried to bring him down. "And thanks to John here, it didn't."

John Merrivale flushed with pleasure, like a teenage girl being complimented by the high school quarterback. Grace listened in silence.

"I had a great model. Foolproof, actually. But at that time, a guy like me with no formal education was seen as way too much of a risk. I couldn't sell a dollar for ninety cents, but this this guy"-he nodded at John-" guy"-he nodded at John-"this guy had the heads of those Swiss pension funds eating out of his hands like a flock of lambs. It was thanks to those early inst.i.tutional investors that we rode out the storm. But it was the small investors that really made us what we became. The mom-and-pop stores, the little charities that gave us their money. You know Madoff and Sandford and all those guys, they were a bunch of sn.o.bs. If you didn't belong to the right golf club, or come from the right family, those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds would turn your money away. Turn it away! That made me sick. Like, who the h.e.l.l were they to tell ordinary people they can't get a taste of the good life? That the American Dream was closed to them? Quorum wasn't like that. We loved the little guy, and we made him rich, and he made guy had the heads of those Swiss pension funds eating out of his hands like a flock of lambs. It was thanks to those early inst.i.tutional investors that we rode out the storm. But it was the small investors that really made us what we became. The mom-and-pop stores, the little charities that gave us their money. You know Madoff and Sandford and all those guys, they were a bunch of sn.o.bs. If you didn't belong to the right golf club, or come from the right family, those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds would turn your money away. Turn it away! That made me sick. Like, who the h.e.l.l were they to tell ordinary people they can't get a taste of the good life? That the American Dream was closed to them? Quorum wasn't like that. We loved the little guy, and we made him rich, and he made us us rich, for a long, long time. People always gloss over that part." rich, for a long, long time. People always gloss over that part."

Lenny's anger was back and growing. Grace had heard about as much self-righteous ness as she could stomach. "Those people, those 'little guys.'" She spat the words back at him, still feeling like she was talking to a ghost but unable to hold herself back any longer. "They lost everything because of Quorum. Everything Everything. Families were made dest.i.tute because of what you did. Charities closed their doors. People, young men with families, have killed themselves because of-"

"Cowards." Lenny shook his head in disgust. "Imagine killing yourself because you lost money? That's not tragic. It's pathetic. I'm sorry, Grace, but it is. You make an investment, you take a risk. No one forced them to give me their G.o.dd.a.m.n money."

Grace was horrified by how much she wanted to shoot him. One squeeze of the trigger and she could stop him talking then and there. Stop this obese, heartless apparition, this ghost, destroying the Lenny she remembered, the Lenny she had loved, the Lenny she had believed in, had needed needed to believe in, her whole adult life. But as deeply as his words hurt her, she felt compelled to hear them. She had to know the truth. to believe in, her whole adult life. But as deeply as his words hurt her, she felt compelled to hear them. She had to know the truth.

"Anyway," he went on, "for years, it was good. Everyone was happy. Then, around 2000, things started to go wrong. That was the tech boom, the rise of the Internet, and it was a crazy time. Just crazy. Overnight, every business model, every investment strategy you ever knew, got turned on its head. Young kids, still in college some of 'em, were founding businesses that never made a red cent, then turning them around and selling them for billions of dollars in eighteen months flat. Everywhere you looked, people were launching rockets and everyone was trying to grab one by the tail. All the old dinosaurs like me. Pick the right start-up and hold the h.e.l.l on for the ride." Lenny's eyes lit up with excitement at the memory. "That was around the time I met you, honey. The happiest time of my life. I've always loved you, you know." He looked at Grace, his eyes welling with tears.

Grace thought, He means it. He's insane. After everything he's done to me, he thinks he can talk about love? He means it. He's insane. After everything he's done to me, he thinks he can talk about love? Aloud she said only, "Go on." Aloud she said only, "Go on."

Lenny shrugged. "It's pretty straightforward after that. I made a lot of Internet investments, bought a bunch of speculative businesses, and I took a bath. Between 2001 and 2003 I must have lost"-he looked at John Merrivale for confirmation-"...I don't know. A lot. Ten billion."

"At least," said John.

"How is that possible?" Grace interrupted.

"How is it possible? You take a bet and you lose, that's how. We just took big bets."

"I mean how come n.o.body knew about it?"

"Because I didn't tell them," said Lenny. "What am I, stupid? I was careful, Gracie. I covered my tracks. We got creative with our financial statements. It's easier than you might think, in a business as complex and diverse as Quorum, to make your a.s.sets look bigger than they are and to hide your liabilities. We stopped logging trades, destroyed a bunch of paper and computer records. We kept the funds we did have moving constantly, from one jurisdiction to another. The SEC sniffed around a bit in 2003 and 2005 but it never opened an official investigation."

"So you lied. You lied to your investors, the 'little guys' who'd trusted you. Just like you lied to me."

"I was protecting them! And you!" Lenny shouted.

"Protecting me me?" If it hadn't been happening to her, Grace might have laughed.

"Sure. Don't you see? As long as n.o.body panicked, as long as they all stuck with me, I could make that money back. I'd already started to do it, Grace. That's the f.u.c.king irony. All those dest.i.tute families you want me to cry over, they're they're the ones who got us all into this mess, not me! If they hadn't all tried to cash in at once, pulling their money out like a herd of frightened, stupid sheep following each other over a cliff..." He threw his arms up in despair. "I could have made things right. I could have. But I never got the chance. After Bear went down, then Lehman, it was mayhem. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds destroyed everything I'd ever worked for. They sank my ship, and I couldn't stop them. All I could do was make sure I didn't go down with them. I had to survive, Grace. I had to survive. the ones who got us all into this mess, not me! If they hadn't all tried to cash in at once, pulling their money out like a herd of frightened, stupid sheep following each other over a cliff..." He threw his arms up in despair. "I could have made things right. I could have. But I never got the chance. After Bear went down, then Lehman, it was mayhem. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds destroyed everything I'd ever worked for. They sank my ship, and I couldn't stop them. All I could do was make sure I didn't go down with them. I had to survive, Grace. I had to survive.