Nate had visited a prison before—a minimum security federal institution that housed mostly white-collar criminals. That had been Nate's beat—financial markets, mortgage fraud, and SEC violations. This was so far out of his league, he felt like a little leaguer at Fenway Park.

Sing Sing had opened back in the early eighteen-hundreds, and though much of it had been updated and remodeled, there was still an air about the place, like it had known every kind of evil in its nearly two hundred years, and it wasn't impressed.

The door opened, and Charles Gray walked in. Nate had never met him, but he'd seen photographs of the man who'd once been a force on Wall Street, welcomed in the finest clubs. He'd been silver-haired and distinguished before. After nearly eight years in a maximum security prison, he was barely recognizable.

Charles scanned the room until his eyes rested on Nate, the only visitor without a prisoner. He shuffled toward him and stopped at the table. "You're the reporter, right?"

Nate stood and held out his hand. "Nate Boyle."

Charles shook his hand and sat, back straight, eyes piercing through his black-rimmed glasses. He exuded confidence, but the years in prison hadn't been good to him. Gray was no longer just his last name. The man's skin matched his hair as if one had seeped into the other. He looked far older than his sixty years, and for a moment Nate wondered if the prisoner needed a doctor.

"Bad ticker," Gray said, as if he'd read his mind. "And being surrounded by these people doesn't help."

"I can imagine. Are the doctors taking care of you?"

"They keep me alive. If I die in here, there's a mountain of paperwork."

"Good to know they care."

Charles nearly smiled, but it faded fast. "What can I do for you, Mr. Boyle?"

"Nate, please." Not that he wanted to make friends with this guy, but he did need his help, and he had nothing to offer in return. "I have a problem."

"Don't we all?"

"You remember Marisa Vega?"

Charles hunched slightly, as if a weight suddenly rested on his upper back. "Is she okay?"

Nate's question faltered on his lips. Was that genuine concern? "Last I heard, you wanted her dead."

"No." His head shook, seemed to shake his whole body, and Nate worried something was wrong. He was about to call the guard when Charles let out a strangled sob. "No. I never meant..."

Nate waited until the man regained control. After a moment, Charles continued.

"I never meant for any of it to happen. It was just... It seemed like such an easy way to make money. It didn't hurt anybody. At least, I didn't realize people were getting hurt. We were helping people get into houses."

"Which they couldn't afford."

"I know, I know. And when it all went sideways, most of those people lost everything. I didn't... Who knew the housing market was going to implode?"