Decker’s sweat had turned suddenly cold. Maybe that was the office—all chrome and glass and ultra-modern with wall art that didn’t believe in anything representational. Expensive though. Big canvases and big names, the most notable being the dripping style of Jackson Pollock. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, but instead of providing warmth and softening, it only added heat and glare. About as inviting as the spotlight on an operating table.

“Have a seat,” Milligan said.

But she remained standing by her desk—an enormous high-polished piece of granite rock. Behind the desk was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. The top half held law books—American law, South African law, English law and international law. The lower half was dedicated to books on economics. Books by John Maynard Keynes and Milton Friedman. There was one full row of books on the post—World War II economies of Germany and Japan.

Immediately, the phone rang. Milligan told her secretary to hold all calls and slammed the receiver down.

“He sees I’m leading two people into my office, you’d think he’d know better than to ring a call through.” Milligan shook her head. “But he’s loyal. Followed me from VerHauten. I suppose you can’t put a price tag on allegiance.” Absently, she leafed through a folder that was lying on her desk. “You said you’d be brief. I’m already behind schedule.”

She’d pronounced the last word sheduel.

Decker pocketed his shield. He sat on a black leather couch big enough to accommodate his frame. Marge sat next to him, spine ramrod straight. They both were intimidated by the wealth, the power. A big no-no for a detective, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

Decker said, “Thanks for your time, Ms. Milligan—”

“You may skip the pleasantries.”

There was an awkward moment of silence. The rudeness kicked in his professionalism.

He stood. “Okay, ma’am. Then just tell me why a multibillion-dollar company like VerHauten felt threatened by Arik Yalom’s meager holding in African diamond mines.”

Milligan’s eyes became hot blue flames.

Decker smiled. “You can start anytime you want, Ms. Milligan.”

A slow smile spread across Milligan’s lips. She leaned against her desk, placing a hand on her jutting hip. “Are you serious?”

Decker said, “Yes.”

Milligan straightened her spine, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t answer absurdities.”

“We have records of your correspondence with Mr. Yalom,” Marge added.

“Then you have records of a deranged man sending VerHauten his incoherent ramblings.”

“Why’d you bother answering them?” Decker asked.

“VerHauten answers all its correspondence, deranged or otherwise.”

“That’s not what I asked, Ms. Milligan,” Decker said. “I asked why you, personally, bothered answering them.”

“His correspondence was sent to my division—”

“And you answer all correspondence directed to your division?”