And just then, of all times, Majid’s computer dinged with a WhatsApp message. From Stavro: “News in France. People dying from poison milk. So sad. Bouvier Lait shares will fall.”

Now? Majid thought. Now?

He blanked his screen and stood up, ready to continue playing dumb, but Okoro didn’t give him a chance.

“I make assumptions on your behalf,” Okoro said. “A new client came to you, previously unknown, with a substantial sum of money. His credentials, if he presented any, were bogus. You didn’t know, or you didn’t care. Perhaps this lovely office is hanging by a thread. Perhaps you are just greedy.”

Majid started to say something, to object, but did not.

“He asked you to make an investment that would prosper if Sahel Hydrocarbon shares went down. And they did, because of an act of industrial sabotage. Which your new client knew was going to happen. Did you think the man who came to you did that himself? That he gave you his money, then jetted to Lagos to set explosive charges?”

Of course not, Majid thought.

“Of course not,” Okoro said. “There were others involved. There had to be. Middle Easterners, as you may have guessed. But not just them. Nigeria is a complicated place. They needed someone there to ease their way. And someone did. For twenty percent of the profit. Which he has not received. Which is why I am calling on you. May I sit?”

Without waiting for an answer, he sat. And Majid’s computer went ding again. Majid ignored it. Now he was standing and Okoro seated, their staging reversed.

“Perhaps you did not know,” Okoro said. “Or you did not want to know.” He paused, playing the drama. “But now you know.”

Finally, Majid spoke. “First of all, even if any of this is true, you must be aware that I cannot tell you anything about my clients or their transactions.”

“Excellent,” said Okoro. “You have stopped denying.”

“I am not confirming.”

“You are.”

“Even if any of this is true,” Majid repeated, “I can’t hand over a client’s money just because you tell me to.”

“So talk to your client. Explain the situation to him.”

Talk to Stavro? Majid thought. Ron had talked to Stavro, and Ron was dead.

“Explain what? Who are you? A police officer who is not a police officer? From Nigeria? This is Switzerland. What kind of authority do you have here?”

“Perhaps I should talk to him myself. You could arrange an introduction. I imagine you would prefer that anyway, to retain whatever ignorance of this you still possess.”

Majid realized: He doesn’t know who Stavro is. He wants me to lead him to him.

None of this had been covered at Harvard Business School.

Okoro looked at his watch and stood. “Think,” he said. “Think carefully. I’ll be back. Remember that you are an accomplice to murder.”