I gestured with the barrel of my Glock for Bronson to sit on his bed. He did with a slouched, defeated posture. “Which brings me to you, Vic. You’re up to your neck in whatever this is, and since bad people are making runs at me, I want to know why. And trust me, Vic—I will tag your lavender-and-hint-of-patchouli balls with every Taser I just poured on the floor. Then I will start to hurt you.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Bronson said.

“As a socially progressive political independent, the temptation is there, but no,” I said. “I’m not going to kill you. Truth of the matter is I’ve got enough on my mind without worrying about which parts of you to bury where and how deep. Now spill.”

Bronson nodded once.

“Who the hell is slash was Mr. Sloane?”

“The financial tip of a very dangerous sword,” Bronson said. “One that threatens to impale me, my company, you—anybody or anything that gets in its way.”

“Who’s wielding the sword?”

“I—I don’t know,” Bronson said. “At this point in time, I don’t really care.”

“And why’s that, Vic?”

Bronson stood and walked to a bedside table. I warned him that a Taser dart in the ass was just as painful as a dart in the nuts. Slowly, he pulled a drawer out and extracted a nicely framed photo. He handed it to me: a young girl—maybe twelve or thirteen—in a school uniform, smiling.

“My youngest daughter, Emmaline,” Bronson said, sitting back down on his bed. “Ever hear of a private school just outside of Geneva called l’École de Brève?”

“No.”

“Very few have,” Bronson said. “Which is why she’s there. More than her education—with my financial stature—her safety is paramount.” He looked down at his bare feet for a moment. Then he looked up at me with wet eyes. “I’m a billionaire fifteen, twenty times over. And that means I’m either everybody’s appointed savior or everybody’s favorite villain.” Tears began to trail down his cheeks. “I’m—you know—bisexual. I’ve got seven kids by three ex-wives. Emmaline is the only one that—likes me. Loves me. Of all the chinless worms and brainless slags I’ve bedded or bred, Emmaline is the only one I truly love.” People can fake a lot of emotions, but Vic wasn’t faking. He was truly distraught. Sick to his heart.

He got some other photos and handed them to me: Emmaline with friends, laughing. Emmaline in her dorm room studying.

“They’re watching her—and they said that’s all they’d do until the deal is done,” he said.

“What deal?”