“It’s absolutely nuts. None of us have ever seen it skid like this. Panic selling, huge volumes. The chairman’s stonewalling. I think he’s into denial. He refuses to close the floor or shut down the system. He’s afraid of the political repercussions. I’m positive you were right, Cath. The OptiMarx system is dirty as hell. If we don’t prove it to the chairman and convince him to stop trading, the system will crash the Exchange.”

Goldman listened. Everything she had predicted was happening. They had to get through to the chairman somehow and make him understand this was all part of some kind of massive, bold plot to manipulate the market.

Goldman had a quick thought. It was a risk, but it might be the only way to avoid a total disaster.

“Charlie, call Alstair McLain at the SEC. Tell him you found the system had been tampered with. I don’t think he’s corrupt. I think he’s just being a damn fool politician. A bureaucrat through and through. He knows I’ve gotten the FBI involved now, so his antenna is definitely up. Tell him the system has to be shut down and the person who makes the decision to do it will be the world’s biggest hero in tomorrow’s Wall Street Journal. He won’t be able to resist the glamour and glory, Charlie.”

“Catherine, you’re brilliant. I owe you a dinner.”

“That works for me. I’m hungry and the only thing I’ve found here to eat is a bag of stale tortilla chips and something in the fridge that might have been a jar of salsa in a previous life.”

“Okay, so it’s a bachelor pad,” Gruver said with a chuckle. “Look, I know a nice Chilean place just around the corner. Candlelight and soft guitars. Sound good once we save the economy of the free world from the bad guys?”

Goldman smiled. It didn’t sound like real food, but it sure sounded nice. “Great. Just hurry back.”

“I’m on my way as soon as I call McLain.”

The doorbell was ringing as Goldman replaced the phone in its cradle. Good. The FBI was here. She hurried down the hall toward the front door.

The building intercom buzzed as well just as she got there. The doorbell rang again, impatiently.

Catherine hesitated. She punched the intercom button.

“Yes?” she said in a whisper.

The voice on the other end had a thick Hispanic accent.

“This is Carlos, at the front desk. There are several gentlemen down here who say they are from the FBI. I see their badges. Did you call the FBI?”

She stared hard at the apartment’s front door. If the FBI agents were in the lobby, who was ringing the doorbell? Only one choice. She pushed the intercom button again. “Send them right up. Tell them to please hurry!”