Despite CCTV cameras everywhere, his comings and goings from his London flat to both laboratories in the city’s metropolis had evaded detection. He had Danny Travis to thank for that, the one man he trusted.

Danny, his brightest student in a decade, kept Gilmont’s various operations functioning. With no family of his own, Danny had immediately attached to Gilmont like a dog to his master. In just a few short years, Gilmont had become father, mother, and employer to the quiet man.

To keep Gilmont in the clear, Danny often played enforcer. But Gilmont didn’t mind dirtying his hands on occasion, especially when the stakes were personal.

Gilmont removed a pack of Players from his breast pocket and lit a cigarette. Leaning back in his chair, he blew out a cloud of smoke while his eyes roved the cracked plaster walls.

He’d been different once—a family man with a decent-paying job. Sandra, his wife, had come from monied Swiss chocolatiers. His university salary was mere pocket change compared to her family’s finances. When Sandra had married him, her father had strongly opposed their union and had told Gilmont to put his brain power to better use. He expected more for his only child.

Gilmont had taken his advice.

Winnowing out a handful of students, mostly scholarship cases with brilliant minds, he had flattered their egos and invited them to join his private mentoring sessions. This process had gleaned a troupe of young men and women with formidable talents.

Once his mentees had assembled en masse, the next step had been child’s play. With them, he launched his underground schemes and had earned wealth beyond his imaginings.

When Gilmont had taken his family on their first holiday, Sandra’s father cautioned him not to live beyond his means, insisting that if Gilmont accrued debts, he had no intention of bailing him out. The man had held to the fact that his daughter would one day see the light, leave Gilmont, and return home where she belonged. Insulted beyond measure, Gilmont had ejected Sandra’s parents from their flat and cut off all communication with them.

Keenly aware that his father-in-law never missed an issue, Gilmont ensured that his and Sandra’s lavish parties and exotic travels hit the society papers. He had even glimpsed Sandra’s parents at several London premieres. They did not approach. Nor did he. It was enough that they had witnessed their daughter’s jet-setter lifestyle.

Not once in the ensuing years had Sandra inquired where the extra funds came from. Instead, she had simply accepted it as her due. Then, one day, after an unfortunate encounter with two MI6 agents, Gilmont’s world had crumbled around his ears, and he had exchanged his respectable Oxford address with a small cell at HM Prison Brixton. Sandra had immediately returned home and filed for divorce, remarrying shortly thereafter.