"You're welcome, sir."

Cohen was waiting inside, scribbling notes on a legal pad. "How did it go?" he asked, looking up.

Gillette relaxed onto the seat beside Cohen. "Miles committed NAG to a billion five," he answered, omitting the fact that the commitment was conditional. That it was only going to the firm that raised thirteen and a half billion first.

"A billion five? That's incredible, Christian. Congratulations."

"Thanks." Gillette watched the bodyguard get in beside the driver. "The rest of the raise won't be that easy."

The small cell phone Gillette carried in his suit jacket began vibrating. He used the Blackberry strictly for business calls. This phone was for social calls.

He pulled the phone from his pocket, loving the way it fit snugly in the palm of his hand. He'd become a techno-junkie over the past few years, always looking for the latest gadget. "h.e.l.lo," he said, not recognizing the number on the tiny screen.

"Hi."

It was Faith. He recognized her voice immediately. "How are you this morning?" He was aware that Cohen was listening intently.

"Great. I still have that glow. I had a wonderful time last night."

"Me, too."

"Listen, I have to go to Los Angeles this afternoon to do some PR stuff. You know, drop by a few stores and sign some CDs. Why don't you come with me? It would be a lot of fun."

Gillette hesitated, remembering how good it felt to be with her. "I'm sure it would be fun, but I'm stacked up over the next few days with Everest stuff."

"Disappointing me already," she said, her voice turning sad.

"Hey, look, I-"

"I'm just kidding," she interrupted. "I know you've got even more going on now that you're chairman. I just thought I'd take a chance."

"When are you back?"

"It's a quick trip. Tomorrow or the day after."

"Call me tonight," he suggested. "We'll get together when you get back."

"Okay." Faith hesitated. "Say something nice, Christian, please."

"Have a safe trip."

"That's not what I meant."

"Call me tonight," he repeated, catching the beginning of her frustrated groan as he cut the call off. "Bye."

"Was that Faith?" Cohen wanted to know.

Gillette slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"Did you sleep with her?" Cohen pushed when he didn't get an answer.

"None of your business."

"It is when you fire Troy for doing the same thing."

Gillette turned slowly on the seat. "It isn't the same thing, Ben," he said evenly. "And don't ever be disloyal to-"

"It's exactly exactly the same thing. Ultimately, Faith Ca.s.sidy works for you. And I'm not being disloyal, d.a.m.n it, I'm trying to the same thing. Ultimately, Faith Ca.s.sidy works for you. And I'm not being disloyal, d.a.m.n it, I'm trying to protect protect you. Who the h.e.l.l do you think decoyed the paparazzi away from your front door this morning?" you. Who the h.e.l.l do you think decoyed the paparazzi away from your front door this morning?"

Gillette stared at the small man for a few seconds. "I appreciate that," he said quietly, realizing suddenly that maybe he shouldn't take Cohen for granted, that Cohen could be more than just a numbers guy. "Have you found out whether or not that woman who was killed in front of the church had children?"

"She had three."

"How old were they?"

"Nine, seven, and four. Two girls and a boy. She was divorced, and the kids have gone to live with her sister on Long Island. There's child support from the ex, but it isn't much, and the sister has a full plate with four kids of her own."

Gillette glanced out at the Brooklyn Bridge as they headed north on the FDR toward midtown. "Give each child a quarter of a million."

"That's a lot of money," Cohen said. "It isn't our fault she was-"

"They're kids, Ben. Young kids. It doesn't matter whose fault it is."

Isabelle's image drifted suddenly through Gillette's mind: long black hair, sculpted cheekbones, smooth, honey-brown skin, and dark eyes. There was something about her that haunted him, something he couldn't shake. Thinking about her was distracting, and he hated being distracted.

He'd only spoken to her for a few moments in Jose and Selma's kitchen. Not long enough to really even draw a first impression. But here he was, thinking about her-again.

"Take it out of my bonus," Gillette instructed.

"Okay, okay. I agree." Cohen put his hands up, giving in. "We need to do the right thing here. I'll make the arrangements, and we'll all all share the burden. Not just you." share the burden. Not just you."

Fifteen minutes later the limousine eased to a stop in front of the Everest building.

"I have a few more things I want to cover," Cohen said, "but I guess they can wait until we get upstairs."

"We're stopping here for you," explained Gillette. "I'm on my way to see Tom McGuire, then I'm having lunch with Senator Stockman. What do you want to cover?"

Cohen checked the list of items scrawled on the legal pad resting on his knees. "We need to talk about all the companies you're chairman of now. All twenty-seven of our control investments, with Bill dead and Troy fired. You can't possibly handle that many chairs and and raise ten billion dollars." raise ten billion dollars."

"I agree, and the target isn't ten billion anymore. It's fifteen."

"Fifteen?" Cohen asked, squinting. Cohen asked, squinting.

"Miles convinced me to go for that much. He wanted to commit a billion five." An exaggeration of the number and not the real reason Whitman wanted Gillette to raise the target. But Cohen needed confidence. "But he can't be more than 10 percent of any individual fund. That's an internal NAG limit."

"Jesus," Cohen muttered under his breath. "I hope we can raise that much."

"I have no doubt we can," Gillette said. "Okay. Let's talk about the chairmanships. What's your recommendation?" He saw that Cohen had been taken off guard.

"Well, I . . . I guess I would-"

"From now on," Gillette interrupted, "when you bring up an issue, do it along with a recommendation. I may not agree, but I always want a recommendation."

"Okay." Cohen paused. "Um, how about this? You keep fifteen chairs and split the balance between Faraday and me. That would be six each for the two of us."

Gillette shook his head. "Nigel's going to be focused on raising the new fund. That'll be a full-time project. And I need you to run the office."

"So you aren't going to give me a single portfolio company?"

The cell phone vibrated again. Gillette pulled it out and flipped it open. It was Jeremy Cole. "Hi, Jeremy," he said, holding up his hand to Cohen.

"Hey, I got a message that you called. What's up?"

"I talked to the Giants yesterday. They'll be contacting your agent in the next few hours, if they haven't already. They'll be offering you six million per for five years with a $10 million signing bonus. Take it. Don't let your agent get greedy," Gillette warned. "I've gotten everything there is to get. Understand?"

"I . . . I understand. My G.o.d, Christian, how did you do that?"

"Don't worry about it. Now I I need a favor." need a favor."

"Anything. Just name it."

"I need tickets to the Super Bowl. Whether you and the Giants get there or not." Gillette could have called the owner's son, but he wanted Cole to step up. "It's in New Orleans this year, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. I need four seats. Good ones, too. It's for a very important friend."

"Done. I'll make the arrangements right away. For all the other stuff, too: pa.s.ses to the parties and as many luxury suites as you need at the best hotel in the French Quarter. I'll take care of everything."

"Good. By the way, how's Faith Ca.s.sidy? Weren't you two supposed to see each other this week."

"How did you know?"

"Word travels."

"Uh-huh. Well, she canceled on me," Cole grumbled. "Something about having to go to L.A., but she wouldn't reschedule. That hasn't happened to me in a while." He laughed. "Maybe you could help me with that, too."

Faith had done exactly as she'd been told. Power was a beautiful thing. "Maybe," Gillette said. "Look, I've got to get going. Remember, tell your agent not to get greedy. If he does, I can't help."

"I'm calling him right now."

Gillette closed the phone, ending the call.

"Is it Miles who wants Super Bowl tickets?" asked Cohen.

Gillette nodded. "Let's get back to the chair positions. Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to promote Marcie and Kyle to managing partner. Both of them are already board members at several of our portfolio companies. They'll replace me as chairman at those companies, and I'll appoint them to chair positions at a few others as well. As you suggested, I'll keep fifteen and split the remaining twelve between Marcie and Kyle. Of course, you, Nigel, and I need to talk about how much of the ups we're going to give Marcie and Kyle. I'm leaning toward splitting 10 of Mason's 25 percent between them: 5 and 5. We'll keep the other 15. At least for now."

"You're not even going to give me one chairman seat?" Cohen asked angrily.

"I told you. I need you focused internally."

"Just one, Christian. Being chairman of a company is something you've always taken for granted because you've always had lots of those positions. I just want to be able to tell my daughters I'm chairman of one of our companies. Please."

"No, Ben. And don't beg. It's pitiful."

"Hi, Vicky." Mason leaned into the young woman's small office.

Vicky looked up from her desk. "Are you and Paul done?"

"Yes."

She smiled self-consciously, starting to say something, then stopping.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Come on."

"I don't usually do this."

"What?"

"I was going to ask you to lunch, but you're probably already busy," she added quickly.

Mason's eyes ran down the plunging lines of her top. "No, I'm free. Let's go."

His cell phone rang as they headed toward the door. It was his wife. He shut it off without answering.

Paul Strazzi watched Mason and Vicky move toward the elevators. He loved how predictable a man like Mason was. It made the pursuit of money so much easier.

8.

Unconditional Trust. In a world dominated by the cutthroat race to extraordinary financial gain, unconditional trust is nonexistent. In the end, a private equity professional must a.s.sume that those circling around him are ultimately driven by money-and nothing else. Otherwise, he's setting himself up for failure. In a world dominated by the cutthroat race to extraordinary financial gain, unconditional trust is nonexistent. In the end, a private equity professional must a.s.sume that those circling around him are ultimately driven by money-and nothing else. Otherwise, he's setting himself up for failure.

TOM MCGUIRE MOVED INTO THE back of the limousine, letting out an exasperated breath as he eased onto the seat beside Gillette. He'd been standing on the corner of Eighth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street for the last twenty minutes-cooling his heels.

Gillette knew the heavy breath was meant to let him know McGuire was angry, but he didn't care. He didn't have time for egos. It was all about what was best for Everest. "Hi, Tom. I'm having lunch over on Fifth, so we'll talk while we ride. The driver can take you wherever you want to go after he drops me off."

Tall and lanky with gray, unkempt hair and round, tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses, McGuire reminded Gillette of several of his Princeton professors. He always seemed disheveled in his unpressed, b.u.t.ton-down shirts, khakis, and rumpled sports jackets with elbow patches.

Vince, Tom's younger brother by four years, was the opposite. Short and muscular, he wore crisp turtlenecks, designer jeans, and cowboy boots. And while Tom had an easygoing manner about him, Vince was intense.