“No what-ifs. That’s how it’s going to be. You win. We win. The country wins.” Maddy shifts into a comical British accent. “Defeat? I do not know the meaning of the word.”

Cole laughs. “Winston Churchill?”

“Close. Margaret Thatcher.”

“Burton says you and the Iron Lady had a lot in common.”

“Right. Except she got eleven years in office, and I only get eight, tops.”

Cole sighs. “I’m just hoping I won’t get twenty years to life.”

“Stop it! That’s not funny. You’re an innocent man and the jury will see that.”

“I hope you’re right, Maddy. I really do.” Cole hears the voice of an aide whispering urgently.

When Maddy comes back on the line, she says, “I have to take a call. So sorry.”

“Go ahead—save the world.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hangs up.

In the silence, the worry he’s been keeping at bay until now floods in. Cole knows that he’s got the most powerful person in the world on his side.

But she’s not sitting on the jury.

CHAPTER
96

Manhattan

Dr. Cameron Graham eases into his black Audi A8 in the parking garage across the street from the Metropolitan Club in Midtown East.

Dinner with old friends was a rare treat, but it’s after eleven and he’s starting to feel the effects of the booze—a vodka martini to start, two glasses of cabernet with the meal, then an Armagnac. He probably should have passed on the digestif, especially since he has to make the drive home to Westchester. His steak dinner is sitting heavily in his belly.

Graham pats his jacket pocket, feeling for his cell phone. He’d followed club rules and turned it off at the table. Nice to be off social media for a few hours. Now it’s time to reconnect.

Graham’s stomach is churning as he checks his work voicemail. He listens to a message from Brea Cooke.

About time.

It’s time for Brea to know everything. She needs to understand. Sometimes you pretend to befriend the enemy in order to learn their tactics and vocabulary, earn their trust, figure out how to predict their actions.

He starts the Audi and pulls out of the parking garage. Just as he merges into Manhattan traffic, a cabdriver cuts in front of him. Graham hits the brakes to prevent a collision. A car horn blasts from behind him. He puts down the phone and picks up speed.

He’s feeling chilly. Is the AC on? He checks. Nope.

In the middle of the next block, Graham feels a prickle shoot down his left arm. His stomach feels even more sour.

Graham leans over and opens the glove box. He fishes for a foil packet of Pepcid. Got it! Grabs it with two fingers. Damn it! It slips out of his grip and drops into the footwell.