"Despite its size and huge success, Quorum was still f-fundamentally a one-man show. When Lenny disappeared, people w-wanted to withdraw their capital. A lot of people. All at the s-s-same time."

"And that was a problem?"

John Merrivale sighed. "Yes. A lot of the money is...well, we don't know where it is exactly. It's unaccounted for. It's complicated."

"I see." Grace thought about this for a few moments. "So is that why the FBI is involved? To try to sort out the confusion?"

John's scratching intensified. "In a way, yes. But I'm afraid there are some unpleasant sides to this. Because the amount of money involved is so large-tens of billions of d-dollars, at a minimum-the police believe that Lenny m-may have deliberately st-stolen it."

"That's ridiculous! Lenny would never steal. Besides, why would he rob his own fund?"

"I d-don't believe he did, Grace. I want you to know that." John took her hand. "But other people-the FBI, investors, the n-newspapers, are jumping to conclusions. They say that once the SEC started investigating, Lenny knew Quorum would collapse and that he would be exposed. G-Grace, they're saying that Lenny might have c-committed suicide."

Grace felt sick.

Suicide? Lenny? No. Never. Even if he had stolen some money, he would never leave me. He would never take his own life.

She struggled to keep her voice steady.

"Whatever happened on that boat, John, it was an accident. Lenny was happy when he left me that morning. Why hasn't the FBI spoken to me? I would have told them that!"

"I'm sure they will want to talk to you eventually. Once a d-death certificate is issued, there'll likely be an inquest. Right now the p-primary focus is on locating the m-missing money. Until that happens, all Quorum's a.s.sets have been frozen, as well as your p-personal accounts."

Grace looked so small and lost, perched on the edge of the couch. Had John Merrivale been a more tactile man, he'd have gone over and hugged her. As it was, he said, "Try not to worry. I know it's hard. But you and I b-both know Lenny wasn't a thief. The truth will come out eventually. Everything will be okay."

No it won't. Not without Lenny. Nothing will ever be okay again.

IT WAS THE NEXT MORNING THAT the storm erupted. Angry investors marched on Quorum's offices, demanding their money back. CNN showed images of a near riot, with mounted police forcing back the mob. Within hours, the likely scale of what was now being called the Quorum Fraud was making headline news around the world. the storm erupted. Angry investors marched on Quorum's offices, demanding their money back. CNN showed images of a near riot, with mounted police forcing back the mob. Within hours, the likely scale of what was now being called the Quorum Fraud was making headline news around the world.

Grace watched the television in shock. "Leonard Brookstein, once one of New York's best-loved philanthropists and an American icon, was today being exposed as perhaps the greatest thief in U.S. history. Furious investors in Brookstein's Quorum Hedge Fund burned effigies of the fifty-eight-year-old, presumed dead after a freak sailing accident last month, outside his former offices." "Leonard Brookstein, once one of New York's best-loved philanthropists and an American icon, was today being exposed as perhaps the greatest thief in U.S. history. Furious investors in Brookstein's Quorum Hedge Fund burned effigies of the fifty-eight-year-old, presumed dead after a freak sailing accident last month, outside his former offices."

The phone rang. It was John. Grace broke down.

"Oh, John! Have you seen what they're saying about Lenny? The news...I can't watch."

"Grace, l-listen to me. You're not safe. I'm c-coming to pick you up."

"But that's crazy. Why would anyone want to hurt me?"

"People are angry, Grace. Lenny's n-not here. You're the next best thing."

"But, John..."

"No b-buts. You must stay with us. Pack a bag. I'll be there in t-ten minutes."

Ten minutes later, Grace was in the back of an armored Town Car. As she left her building, a small group of hecklers was already gathered outside. They jeered at her.

"Where's the money, Grace?"

"Where'd Lenny hide it?"

"Is that seventy billion in your suitcase, baby, or are you just glad to see us?"

By the time John bundled her into the car, she was hyperventilating.

She never set foot in her apartment again.

"NO. I WON'T SELL IT WON'T SELL IT. I CAN'T CAN'T."

Grace was in the boardroom of the law firm Carter Hochstein. Around the table were six forbidding-looking men in dark suits. John Merrivale introduced them as Lenny's trustees, the men responsible for overseeing his estate.

"I'm afraid you have no choice. Put simply, Mrs. Brookstein, you do not have the money to continue paying the mortgage on the apartment. We're going to have to put all all your a.s.sets on the market. Historically, your husband funded his lifestyle by borrowing large sums of money against the value of his stake in Quorum. Those loans have now been called in, and you have no immediate means of paying them." your a.s.sets on the market. Historically, your husband funded his lifestyle by borrowing large sums of money against the value of his stake in Quorum. Those loans have now been called in, and you have no immediate means of paying them."

Grace turned to John Merrivale in bewilderment.

"But how can that be? Can't I, I don't know, sell some shares or something?"

John looked pained. "The thing is, Grace, until this mess is sorted out at Quorum, you d-don't have any shares to sell."

"Mrs. Brookstein." Kenneth Greville, the most senior partner, spelled it out in black and white. "You must understand. Vast Vast sums of money remain unaccounted for at Quorum. Hundreds of thousands of your husband's investors have been financially ruined. They've lost everything." sums of money remain unaccounted for at Quorum. Hundreds of thousands of your husband's investors have been financially ruined. They've lost everything."

Grace thought, And I haven't? And I haven't?

"Until your husband is determined to be legally dead and the criminal investigation is completed, we can't draw any firm conclusions. But it does look increasingly likely that Mr. Brookstein was involved, to some degree at least, in fraudulent activity of a most serious nature. The amounts that were stolen-"

"No." Grace stood up. "I'm sorry, but I won't sit here and listen to this. My husband never stole anything. Lenny is not a thief! He's a good man and he built Quorum up from nothing. Tell them, John."

Kenneth Greville thought, She still refers to him in the present tense. The poor child's delusional. She still refers to him in the present tense. The poor child's delusional.

"Your loyalty is admirable, Mrs. Brookstein. But it is my unpleasant duty to inform you of the facts with regard to your current, and probably future, financial circ.u.mstances. You will not be able to continue living at the Park Avenue apartment. I'm sorry."

Tears rolled down Grace's cheeks. She felt as if she were manacled to a runaway train. Her life was collapsing around her, and she had absolutely no power to stop it.

THAT EVENING AT DINNER, CAROLINE M MERRIVALE watched Grace staring listlessly at the dining-room wall. She'd barely touched her soup and looked thin and drawn. watched Grace staring listlessly at the dining-room wall. She'd barely touched her soup and looked thin and drawn.

"Eat up, Grace. In this house we make it a rule never to let good food go to waste. Don't we, John?"

John saw the triumphant flash of cruelty in his wife's eyes. She's loving every second of this. Turning the tables on Grace at last. She's like a cat with a mouse, playing with it before the kill. She's loving every second of this. Turning the tables on Grace at last. She's like a cat with a mouse, playing with it before the kill.

"Caroline's right, Grace. You must try to k-keep your strength up."

Grace brought a spoonful of soup to her lips. It was cold. She fought down the urge to gag. "I'm sorry. I really don't feel very well. If you don't mind, I think I'd like to go to bed."

The sooner today was over, the better. After the meeting with the lawyers, she'd felt lower than she had since the day the coast guard told her the awful news. The whole world was talking about this stupid money. As if I care about the money! All I want is for Lenny to walk back through the door. As if I care about the money! All I want is for Lenny to walk back through the door.

A maid appeared in the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Merrivale. But there's a policeman at the door. He says he has urgent business with Mrs. Brookstein."

Instinctively Grace panicked. "No! Tell him to go away. It's late. Tell him to come back in the morning."

Caroline laughed. "Don't be silly, Grace. It's the police, not a social call. You must go out and meet him."

"No, please, Caroline. I can't."

Caroline was unmoved. "Melissa, show the officer in. Tell him Mrs. Brookstein will be with him momentarily."

A few minutes later, Grace walked nervously into the entryway. She expected to find an aggressive FBI agent there to interrogate her. Instead, she was greeted by a shy young man in uniform. As soon as he saw Grace, he took off his cap politely. Grace felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.

"Good evening, Officer. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Mrs. Brookstein. I, er...I have some news for you. It's about your husband. Perhaps you'd like to sit down?"

Irrationally, Grace's heart soared.

He's alive! Lenny's alive! They've found him! Oh, thank G.o.d. Lenny will come back and everything will go back to the way it used to be. We'll have our homes again and our money, no one will hate us anymore...

"Mrs. Brookstein?"

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you. I've been sitting all day. You say you have some news for me?"

"Yes, ma'am." The young man looked at his shoes. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this. But this afternoon the Ma.s.sachusetts coast guard recovered a body. We believe the remains to be those of your husband, Leonard Brookstein."

EIGHT.

DONNA S SANCHEZ ENJOYED HER WORK AT the city morgue. Her friends and family couldn't understand it. "All those dead people. Aren't you creeped out?" Their reactions made Donna smile. A heavyset Puerto Rican woman with fat, sausagelike fingers and a round, doughy face, Donna had grown up in a big noisy family before starting a big noisy family of her own. Outside of work, the sound track to Donna Sanchez's life was screaming children, smashing crockery, beeping car horns, blaring television sets. Donna liked the dead because they were silent. The city morgue on Clarkson Avenue in Brooklyn was white, clean and orderly. It made Donna feel peaceful. the city morgue. Her friends and family couldn't understand it. "All those dead people. Aren't you creeped out?" Their reactions made Donna smile. A heavyset Puerto Rican woman with fat, sausagelike fingers and a round, doughy face, Donna had grown up in a big noisy family before starting a big noisy family of her own. Outside of work, the sound track to Donna Sanchez's life was screaming children, smashing crockery, beeping car horns, blaring television sets. Donna liked the dead because they were silent. The city morgue on Clarkson Avenue in Brooklyn was white, clean and orderly. It made Donna feel peaceful.

Of course, she still had bad days. Even after eight years, the sight of small children's bodies could make Donna choke up. Some of the accident victims were pretty gruesome, too. And the suicides. The first time Donna saw a "jumper," she had nightmares about the mangled corpse for weeks afterward: bones erupting through the skin, skull collapsed like a rotten melon. Normally, drowning victims were among the easiest to deal with. Immersion in cold, deep water tended to delay decomposition. Donna also noticed that many of the water-dead had a happy, almost beatific look on their faces.

Not today's body, though. The revolting, waxy hulk lying on the slab had no face. The fish had seen to that. All that was left beneath the ravaged stump of a neck was a great, bloated midsection. The left arm and hand were miraculously intact, but the rest of the limbs had gone, snapped off like crab claws. It was, as Donna's friends would have said, creepy.

"Are they really dragging his poor wife in here?" Like everyone else at the morgue, Donna Sanchez knew that the cops believed the body was Lenny Brookstein's. That's why it had been brought back to New York, almost two hundred miles from where it washed up on the Ma.s.sachusetts coast. "No one should have to see their loved one like this."

Duane Tyler, the technician, sneered. A handsome black kid, fresh out of high school, Duane was a born cynic. "Save your sympathy, Donna. One thing Grace Brookstein ain't is poor. You know what they saying? This son of a b.i.t.c.h ripped off thousands of people. Ordinary people."

"I know that's what they're saying, saying, Duane. It doesn't mean it's true. Besides, so what if he did? It's not his wife's fault." Duane. It doesn't mean it's true. Besides, so what if he did? It's not his wife's fault."

Duane Tyler shook his head pityingly. "Don't you believe it, girl. You think the wives don't know? Those rich white b.i.t.c.hes? They know know. They all know."

HARRY B BAIN AND G GAVIN W WILLIAMS WERE in the district attorney's office. in the district attorney's office.

It was common knowledge that Angelo Michele's parents were two of the many New Yorkers facing ruin because of Lenny Brookstein. Angelo was the best legal brain in New York City, but Harry Bain wondered whether, in this case, his judgment might be clouded. The D.A.'s opening words did not rea.s.sure him.

"Well, I wanted Brookstein's head on a plate. Looks like I got the next best thing. His torso on a slab."

"It might not be him," said Harry Bain. "His wife's on her way to identify the body. What's left of it. Then we can autopsy."

"Good."

It was the job of the FBI task force to find the missing Quorum money. But it was Angelo Michele's job to prosecute those responsible for the theft. Part of him was pleased they'd found a body. The possibility, however remote, that Lenny Brookstein might have somehow escaped and be living the high life on a private atoll in the South Pacific had been keeping Angelo awake at night for weeks. But another part of him felt robbed. If Lenny Brookstein was dead, he couldn't be punished. Somebody had to be punished.

"Have you got any further with Merrivale or Preston?"

"No." Harry Bain frowned. "Not yet." He had personally interviewed the two senior Quorum execs a total of six times, but was no closer to untangling the mystery of how Lenny Brookstein had managed to spirit away such insane amounts of money. Instinct told him that both men knew more than they were telling. But so far, he couldn't prove it. "Agent Williams has uncovered something interesting, though."

Angelo Michele looked at Gavin Williams. The man gave him the creeps. He was more like a robot than a human being. When he spoke, it was in a monotone, studiously avoiding eye contact.

"It appears that in the week before his death, Leonard Brookstein changed the company structure at Quorum. Effectively, he arbitrarily stripped John Merrivale of his partnership status."

"d.a.m.n it." Angelo Michele shook is head.

Harry Bain c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "That's bad?"

"Sure. If Lenny Brookstein was the only legal partner, it'll be almost impossible to indict, much less prosecute, the other players. Short of seventy billion showing up sewn into Merrivale's suit pants, we're f.u.c.ked."

"He wasn't the only partner."

"But I thought you said..."

Gavin Williams sighed, like a grade-school teacher explaining something painfully simple to a seven-year-old. "I said, said, Lenny stripped John of his shares. I didn't say he was the only partner. He didn't keep that equity. He transferred it." Lenny stripped John of his shares. I didn't say he was the only partner. He didn't keep that equity. He transferred it."

Angelo Michele's heart was racing. "To who, for G.o.d's sake?"

Gavin Williams smiled.

"To his wife."