"What is it you do here?" Garrison asked.

"I'm the manager. I keep the books, make sure the customers are getting what they want, and deal with the employees."

"That must be a challenge," Garrison said.

"They're good guys. The ones who aren't don't last very long."

Garrison nodded. "Far cry from Wall Street."

"What's going on here? What do you think I did?"

"Nothing." Garrison settled his long frame back in his chair, which creaked. "Ever talk to any of your old friends?"

"You mean from G&K?"

Garrison shrugged.

"You think they want me around? I'm a felon."

"You're doing okay, though."

Anderson looked beyond Garrison for a moment. "There was a guy who worked in the same building as me back then, a stockbroker a few floors down from G&K. We used to get drinks together, hit on women. Played golf a few times. We were friends. He brought his car in a couple months ago. A BMW or some such thing. He looked right at me and acted like he'd never seen me before."

"That must've made you mad," Garrison said.

"What are you, my therapist? Yeah, I was mad. But geez.” He slowed his speech as if talking to a dimwit. "I'm a felon. I wouldn't want to be friends with me, either."

"So nobody else?"

"I don't keep in contact with any of them. Charles is in prison. Vinnie...well, you know what happened to Vinnie. Burns got off with a slap on the wrist. He's still working on Wall Street. I haven't tried to contact him."

"Lot of people lost their jobs. You don't hear from any of them?"

Anderson seemed about to snap. He blew out a long breath. "I don't see anybody. I don't want to. Look, I've got a life now, okay? My wife left me, and I was pretty ticked off for a long time. Now, I've got a good job. I help people with their taxes on the side for extra money. I bought a place in New Jersey. I got a woman who lives with me. My daughter comes over on weekends. We're doing good."

"Glad to hear it," Garrison said.

"I never belonged on Wall Street. I think Charles brought me on because he knew about the trouble I'd gotten into as a kid. Figured I had...questionable morals."

"And he was right."

"That's in the past."

A cell phone rang. Garrison reached into his pocket and pulled his out. He swore and stood. "I have to take this."

"Go ahead," Nate said.

Garrison passed him on his way out. Nate slid into the chair and pulled out his notebook.

Anderson seemed to relax when Garrison was gone. "What's going on?"

"Marisa Vega."

"So he said. What about her? They find her?"

"They who?"

"Whoever. The feds. Weren't they looking for her?"

"Why would they be?"

"'Cause of the money, of course." He threw up his hands. "She stole millions of dollars."