“What do you mean by that?” Pia said. There was a sharpness in her voice.

“Nothing, nothing,” Will said, holding up his hands as if he expected Pia to attack him. “It’s known you worship the guy—”

“I respect the guy—”

“Listen, it’s fine, he’s clearly some kind of crazy genius.” The look on Pia’s face persuaded Will that he might be better off changing the subject.

“What we were wondering,” Will said, “is how much money Rothman stands to make if he finds investors to back him.”

“You were wondering,” Lesley said.

“Yes, I was wondering. There’s got to be big money in this. Rothman’s sitting on a gold mine. Don’t you think, George?”

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about,” George said. “But I can tell I’m interrupting a meeting here.” He started to leave, but Will grabbed his jacket just above the elbow and restrained him. “Don’t go! Take a seat!”

George glanced at Pia, and she motioned with her head for him to sit down, which he did, unsure if it was the right move.

8.

GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT
MARCH 1, 2011, 9:10 P.M.

Edmund Mathews was back at his front door, and again it was Russell. This time Russell hadn’t called ahead; he simply texted Edmund on his BlackBerry to say he was coming over. There was only one reason he’d come back. Edmund figured he must have found out who was shorting LifeDeals.

“Edmund. We need to talk.”

“Tell me what you found out.”

“I need a drink and so will you. Can you fix me a scotch?”

Edmund knew Russell liked the eighteen-year-old Talisker single malt he kept in the den, so he walked Russell over to the room and closed the door behind them. Edmund had been sitting in there reading some research and had started a fire in the grate. The room smelled slightly of smoke, and when Edmund opened the bottle, the peaty aroma of the whiskey added to the effect that they were in a Highland lodge.

“So what do you know?”

Edmund poured two drinks and handed one to Russell, who stared into the fire, an elbow leaning on the mantel.

“I’m a big boy, Russell, I’ve heard bad news before. Out with it!”

“Gloria Croft,” Russell said, snatching a glance at Edmund, then throwing down all of his drink in one shot.

“Excuse me? I thought for a second you said Gloria Croft.”

“I did. That’s who it is, Edmund, Gloria freaking Croft. She’s doing it plain as day through BigSkies.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

Edmund was yelling nearly at the top of his voice. This was why Russell had been concerned—he knew Edmund was going to flip out. There was a knock at the door, and Alice, Edmund’s wife, popped her pretty blond head in.

“Oh, hi, Russell. Edmund, Darius is going to bed. . . .”

Alice took one look at her husband’s face twisted in a rictus of unalloyed rage. She could see it would be a hopeless task to get anything out of him in this state.