He glanced to his right when he had the chance. Catherine Goldman still sat there, not making a sound. She was drawn into a tight little ball, her knees under her chin, her face buried in her hands, just as she had been ever since they pulled out of the truck stop parking lot. Once or twice, he had noticed her shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress a sob or fought an involuntary shiver. This was not the strong, independent, self-assured woman he knew and admired. He could not imagine what had happened to her, who had hurt her so badly. Those were the questions he intended to get answered as soon as she was safe at his place. Gruver vowed he would make whoever it was pay.

The cell phone in his jacket pocket buzzed. Catherine jumped and looked at him, fear obvious in her eyes.

He smiled at her, then flipped the phone open.

“This is Gruver and I’m busy,” he growled. “What do you want?”

“Chuck. Where the hell are you? The world is turning to shit here.” It was Bill Molsen, deputy chief technology officer at the New York Stock Exchange. “The market’s coming down around our ears.”

Gruver dodged into another lane and shot past a slowing line of traffic. “Calm down, Bill. Just tell me what’s happening.”

His assistant took a telling deep breath, then exhaled before he continued. “The market’s been dropping like an anvil all day. Worse than the first day after the Trade Towers. The volumes have been unbelievable, Chuck. I’ve never seen anything like it. The Dow is down a thousand points. No, better than a thousand now.”

Gruver whistled softly. That was a catastrophic disaster. He had never seen anything like that kind of drop in a few hours either. The trading floor would be in absolute pandemonium, even with the curbs in place. He could picture the desperate specialists and floor traders scrambling, wild-eyed, trying to quiet the panic while they attempted to salvage their fortunes. The cable reporters shouting into their microphones, trying to be heard over the pandemonium.

He wondered why Molsen would be calling him. As long as their computer systems were working, the free fall on the trading floor wasn’t their problem.

Bill Molsen seemed to read his boss’s mind. “Chuck, all the volume is coming through the OptiMarx system. There seems to be inexhaustible sell-side pressure. It’s driving the prices straight to hell. Something doesn’t smell right here.”

“What does the chairman say?” Gruver asked.

“He’s an inch away from closing the floor until we get a grip on it. He’s been down here three times already this morning. Boss, you’ve never seen the head guy sweat like this.”