Nat didn't laugh as he replaced the receiver.

He leaned over and kissed his wife before running to the door.

"You're not wearing a tie," said Su Ling.

"By tonight I might not be wearing a shirt," Nat replied.

When they had moved from Boston to Manhattan, Su Ling had found an apartment only a cab ride away from Wall Street. As each bonus came in, she'd been able to furnish and decorate the four rooms, so that Nat soon felt able to bring his colleagues and even some clients back for dinner.

Seven paintings-few that laymen would have recognized-now adorned the walls.

Su Ling fell back into a half sleep as her husband left. Nat broke with his usual routine as he leaped down the stairs in twos and threes, not bothering to wait for the elevator. On a normal day, he would have risen at six, and phoned the office from his study to ask for an update.

He rarely had to make any major decisions over the phone, as most of their positions were locked in for several months. He would then shower, shave and be dressed by six thirty. He would read the Wall Street Journal while Su Ling prepared breakfast, and leave the apartment around seven, having looked in on Luke.

Rain or shine, he would walk the five blocks to work, picking up a copy of the New "York Times from a box on the corner of William and John.

He immediately turned to the financial section and if the headline grabbed his attention, he would read it on the move, and still be at his desk by seven twenty. The New York Times wouldn't be informing its readers of the French devaluation until tomorrow morning, by which time, for most bankers, it would be history.When Nat reached the street, he hailed the first available cab, and removed a ten-dollar bill for a five-block journey, and said, "I need to be there yesterday." The driver immediately changed lanes, and they pulled up outside his office four minutes later. Nat ran into the building and headed for the first open elevator. It was packed with traders, all talking at the tops of their voices. Nat learned nothing new, except that the simple announcement had been made by the French Ministry of Finance at ten o'clock, central European time. He cursed as the elevator stopped eight times on its slow progress to the eleventh floor.

Steven and Adrian were already at their desks in the trading room.

"Tell me the latest," he shouted as he threw off his coat.

"Everyone's taking a bath," said Steven. "The French have officially devalued by seven percent, but the markets are discounting it as too little too late."

Nat checked his screen. "And the other currencies?"

"The pound, lira and peseta are also going south.

The dollar is climbing, the yen and the Swiss franc are holding steady, while the deutschmark is bobbing."

Nat continued to stare at his screen, watching the figures flick up and down every few seconds. "Try and buy some yen," he said as he watched the pound drop another point.

Steven picked up a phone linked directly to the trading desk. Nat stared in his direction. They were losing valuable seconds as they waited for a trader.

"How much is the trade?" barked Steven.

"Ten million at 2068."

Adrian looked away as Steven gave the order.

"And sell any pounds or lire we're still holding because they'll be the next to devalue," said Nat.

"What about the rate?"

"To hell with the rate, just sell," said Nat, "and get into dollars. If it's a real storm, everyone will try to shelter in New York." Nat wassurprised how calm he felt amidst the barrage of shouting and cursing around him.

"We're out of lire," said Adrian, "and are being offered yen at 2027."

"Grab them," intoned Nat, his eyes not moving from the screen.

"We're out of the pound," said Steven, "at 2:37."

"Good, transfer half our dollars back into yen."

"I'm out of guilders," shouted Adrian.

"Switch them all into Swiss francs."

"Do you want to sell our deutschmark position?"

asked Steven.

"No," said Nat.

"Do you want to buy any?"

"No," repeated Nat. "They're sitting on the equator and don't seem to be moving in either direction."

He'd finished making decisions in less than twenty minutes, and then all he could do was stare at the screens and wait to see how much damage had been done. As most currencies continued their downward trend Nat realized others would be suffering far more than he was.

It didn't help.

If only the French had waited until midday, the usual time to announce a devaluation, he would have been at his desk. "Damn the French," said Adrian.

"Clever French," countered Nat, "to devalue when we're asleep."

The French devaluation meant little to Fletcher as he read the details in the New York Times on the train into work the following morning. Several banks had taken a bath, and one or two were even having to report solvency problems to the Securities and Exchange Commission. He turned the page to read a profile about the man who looked certain to be running against Ford for president. Fletcher knew very little about Jimmy Carter, other than that he'd been governor of Georgia and owned a large peanut farm. Hepaused for a moment, and thought about his own political ambitions, which he'd put on hold while he tried to establish himself at the firm.

Fletcher decided he would sign up to help the "Back Carter" campaign in New York in whatever spare time he had. Spare time? Harry and Martha complained about never seeing him. Annie had joined yet another nonprofit board, and Lucy had chicken pox. When he'd phoned his mother to ask if he'd ever had chicken pox, the first thing she said was, "Hello, stranger." However, these problems were quickly forgotten only moments after he'd arrived at the office.

The first hint of any trouble came when he said good morning to Meg in reception.

"There's a meeting of all attorneys in the conference room at eight thirty," she said flatly.

"Any idea what it's about?" asked Fletcher, realizing that it was a silly question the moment he'd asked it. Confidentiality was the firm's hallmark.

Several partners were already in their places, talking in hushed tones, when Fletcher entered the boardroom at eight twenty, and he quickly took a seat directly behind Matt's chair. Could the devaluation of the French franc in Paris affect a law firm in New York? He doubted it. Did the senior partner want to talk about the Higgs and Dunlop deal? No, not Alexander's style. He looked around the boardroom table. If any of them knew what was on the agenda, they weren't giving anything away. But it had to be bad news, because good news was always announced at the six o'clock evening meeting.

At eight twenty-four the senior partner walked in.

"I must apologize for keeping you away from your desks," he began, "but this was not something that I felt could be covered by an internal memo, or slipped into my monthly report." He paused and cleared his throat. "The strength of this firm has always been that it has never become involved in scandals of a personal or financial nature; therefore I considered even the hint of such a problem hadto be dealt with expeditiously." Fletcher was now even more puzzled. "It has been brought to my notice that a member of this firm was seen in a bar frequented by lawyers from rival institutions."

I do that every day, thought Fletcher, it's hardly a crime.

"And although this in itself is not reprehensible, it can lead to other developments that are unacceptable at Alexander Dupont and Bell. Fortunately, one of our number, with the best interest of the firm at heart, felt it his duty to keep me briefed on what might have become an embarrassing situation. The employee I am referring to was seen in a bar talking to a member of a rival firm. He then left with that person at approximately ten o'clock, took a cab to his home on the West Side, and did not reappear again until six thirty the following morning, when he returned to his own apartment. I immediately confronted the employee concerned, who made no attempt to deny his relationship with the member of a rival firm, and I'm pleased to say that he agreed the wisest course of action was to resign immediately." He paused. "I am grateful to the member of staff who reluctantly decided that it was his duty to report this matter to me."

Fletcher glanced across at Ralph Elliot, who was trying to feign surprise as each new sentence was delivered, but no one had ever told him about overacting. It was his view that Fletcher recalled seeing Elliot on Fifth Avenue after his evening drink. He felt sick the moment he realized it was Logan the senior partner was referring to.

"May I remind everyone," emphasized Bill Alexander, "that this matter should not be discussed again in public or in private." The senior partner rose from his place and left the room without another word.

Fletcher thought it would be diplomatic to be among the last to leave, and when there were no partners left inthe room he rose and walked slowly toward the door.

On his way back to his office he could hear footsteps behind him, but he didn't look around, until Elliot caught up with him. "You were in the bar with Logan that night, weren't you?" he paused. "I didn't tell my uncle."

Fletcher said nothing as Elliot slipped away, but once he was back at his desk he wrote down the exact words Elliot had threatened him with.

The only mistake he made was not to inform Bill Alexander immediately.

One of the many things Nat admired about Su Ling was that she never once said, "I told you so," although after all her warnings, she had every right to do so.

"So what happens next?" she asked, having already put the incident behind her.

"I have to decide whether to resign or wait to be pushed."

"But Steven is the head of your department, and even Adrian is senior to you."

"I know, but they were all my positions, and I signed the buy and sell orders, so no one really believes they made any of the plays."

"How much did the bank lose?"

"A few dollars short of half a million."

"But you've made them much more than that in the past couple of years."

"True, but the other heads of departments will now consider me unreliable, and will always be fearful that it just might happen again. Steven and Adrian are already distancing themselves as quickly as they can; they won't want to lose their jobs as well."

"But you're still capable of making the bank huge profits, so why should they let you go?"

"Because they'll be able to replace me; business schools throw up bright new graduates every year."

"Not of your caliber, they don't," said Su Ling.

"But I thought you didn't approve?"

"I didn't say I approve," replied Su Ling, "but that doesn't mean I don't recognize and admire your ability." She hesitated. "Willanyone else offer you a job?"

"I don't suppose they will be calling me as frequently as they were a month ago, so I'll just have to start calling them."

Su Ling wrapped her arms around her husband.

"You've faced far worse than this in Vietnam and so did I in Korea, and you didn't flinch."

Nat had almost forgotten what had happened in Korea, although it was obviously still troubling Su Ling.

"What about the Cartwright Fund?" she asked as Nat helped her set the table.

"Lost around fifty thousand, but it's still showing a small profit over the year. Which reminds me, I must ring Mr. Russell and apologize."

"But you've also made them handsome returns in the past."

"Which is why they put so much trust in me in the first place," said Nat, thumping the table. "Damn it, I should have seen it coming." He looked across the table at his wife. "What do you think I should do?"

Su Ling considered his question for some time. "Resign, and get yourself a proper job."

Fletcher dialed the number without going through his secretary. "Are you free for lunch?" He paused. "No, we need to meet somewhere where no one will recognize us"-pause-"is that the one on West 57th?"-pause-"see you there at twelve thirty."

Fletcher arrived at Zemarki's a few minutes early. His guest was waiting for him. They both ordered salad, and Fletcher called for a light beer.

"I thought you never drank at lunch?"

"Today is one of those rare exceptions," said Fletcher. After 2.1Q he'd taken a long draft, he told his friend what had taken place that morning.

"This is 1976 not 1776," was all Jimmy said.

"I know, but it seems that there are still one or two dinosaurs roaming around, and God knows what other bile Elliot fed to his uncle."

"Sounds like a nice guy, your Mr. Elliot.You'd better keep your eye on him as you're probably the next one he has in his sights."

"I can take care of myself," said Fletcher.

"It's Logan I'm worried about."

"But surely if he's as good as you say he'll be quickly snapped up?"

"Not after a call to Bill Alexander asking why he left so suddenly."

"No lawyer would dare to suggest that being gay was a reason for dismissal."

"He doesn't have to," said Fletcher. "Given the circumstances he need only say, 'I would prefer not to discuss the matter, it's somewhat delicate," which is far more deadly." He took another swig. "I have to tell you, Jimmy, that if your firm were lucky enough to employ Logan, they would never regret it."

"I'll have a word with the senior partner this afternoon, and let you know how he reacts. Anyway, how's my kid sister?"

"Slowly taking over everything in Ridgewood, including the book club, the neighborhood swim team and the blood donors' drive. Our next problem is going to be which school to send Lucy to."

"Hotchkiss is taking girls now," said Jimmy, "and we intend. ."

"I wonder how the senator feels about that," said Fletcher as he drained his beer. "How is he, by the way?"

"Exhausted, he never stops preparing for the next election."

"But no one could oust Harry. I don't know a more popular politician in the state."

"You tell him that," said Jimmy. "When I last saw him he'd put on fifteen pounds, and was looking badly out of shape."

Fletcher glanced at his watch. "Send the old warhorse my best, and tell him Annie and I will try and get up to Hartford for a weekend soon."

He paused. "This meeting never took place."