“Let’s start with something simple,” he said. “How did you meet?”

Zoe made a brief show of thought. “It was two years ago, in Davos. Martin had just given his yearly address, and he’d been electrifying. I filed my story from the pressroom, then headed over to the Belvedere Hotel. It was the usual scene—movie stars and politicians rubbing shoulders with the world’s richest businessmen. That’s where the real action takes place in Davos, at the cocktail parties and in the bars of the swankiest hotels.”

“And Martin was there?”

She nodded. “He and his entourage were having drinks in the corner, protected by a wall of bodyguards. I ordered a glass of wine and immediately found myself in a horrendously boring conversation with a finance minister from Africa about debt relief. After ten minutes, I was ready to slit my wrists. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a blond chap, dark suit, buzz cut, German accent. Said his name was Jonas Brunner. Said he worked for Mr. Landesmann. Said Mr. Landesmann was wondering whether I might join him for a drink. I accepted, of course, and a few seconds later I was seated next to the man himself.”

“And what did the man want?”

“I’d been badgering him for months for an interview. He told me he wanted to meet the world’s most persistent woman, or so he said at the time.”

“Why would any businessman in his right mind want to give you an interview?”

“It wasn’t going to be that kind of piece. I wanted to do something different from my usual scorched-earth investigations. I wanted to write about a wealthy businessman who was actually doing something decent with his money. I told Martin I wanted my readers to meet the man behind the curtain.”

“But your conversation that night was off the record?”

“Completely.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Remarkably, me. Martin wanted to know about my work. My family. My hobbies. Anything but himself.”

“And you were impressed?”

“Dazzled, actually. It’s hard not to be. Martin Landesmann is incredibly handsome and wealthy beyond belief. And not many of the men I meet ever want to talk about anything but themselves.”

“So you were attracted to him?”

“At the time, I was intrigued. And remember, I was after an interview.”

“And Martin?”

She gave a faint smile. “As the evening wore on, he became quite flirtatious—in an understated, subliminal Martin sort of way,” she added. “He finally asked whether I would have dinner with him in the privacy of his suite. He said it would give us a chance to get to know each other better. When I told him that I didn’t think it was appropriate, he seemed quite shocked. Martin isn’t used to people telling him no.”

“And the interview?”