"Our plan was a bust," Faraday muttered, throwing back a healthy swallow of scotch. "f.u.c.king Cohen."

"Not even going to try to deny the conspiracy?" Gillette asked, touching his forehead to make certain it wasn't bleeding again. They weren't particularly close, but he'd always liked Faraday. His sarcasm was entertaining, and, if you weren't careful, the accent could be hypnotic.

"Cohen was supposed to get you down those steps faster, then tell you he'd forgotten something in the church and get away from the limo. But all that little f.u.c.ker can do is run numbers. And babble Latin," Faraday added, smiling. "Mason and I should have remembered that."

Gillette almost smiled back-three days ago he would have-but he controlled his expression. Things were different. He had to maintain his distance now that he was chairman. "Next time you'll do a better job of preparing."

"You're f.u.c.king right we will."

Gillette shook his head. Faraday dropped the f-bomb constantly.

"Chris, I-"

"Christian," Gillette interrupted.

Faraday chuckled, then coughed and wiped the smile away with the back of his hand when he realized Gillette was serious. "Well, look, I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I was worried about you there for a few minutes, what with all that blood. I'm not going to lie and tell you I wasn't disappointed that I didn't get the nod from the limited partners yesterday. I thought I had more than a few of them in my pocket. After all, I raised a lot of their dough." Faraday paused. "But I'm glad you're all right."

Of the ninety-three investors in the Everest funds, Faraday had won only three votes. Translation: The limited partners enjoyed the entertainment, and they committed dollars to Everest when Faraday asked, but they had no confidence in his ability to actually manage the money. To acquire healthy companies and make savvy operating decisions once Everest owned them.

"Thank you," Gillette said quietly.

"I also came to let you know that Senator Stockman f.u.c.king wants to see you."

Gillette glanced up from a manila folder lying on one corner of Donovan's desk. "Looking for handouts, is he?" It hadn't taken long for the parade to start.

"I'm sure he'd refer to it as 'support.' "

"Aren't you f.u.c.king f.u.c.king sure?" Gillette shot back, spotting a razor cut on Faraday's cheek. Faraday was swarthy and always nicking himself. sure?" Gillette shot back, spotting a razor cut on Faraday's cheek. Faraday was swarthy and always nicking himself.

Faraday's round face slowly broke into another grin. "Yeah. I'm f.u.c.king sure."

Gillette nodded. "I'll see him. But tell him it'll be a few minutes."

"Should I come back in with him?"

"No, send Cohen." Faraday's grin evaporated and anger flashed across his face, but Gillette motioned toward the door before the other man could complain. "Go."

When Faraday was gone, Gillette glanced back into the mirror. Urgency and efficiency. Make the most of every second. Bill Donovan's mantra. Over the last ten years Gillette had become a disciple.

Faraday worked his way through the crowd toward Cohen. A thousand people had been invited to the reception and all of them seemed to have accepted.

He tapped Cohen on the shoulder. "Hey, Moses." His nickname for the little man.

Cohen excused himself from his conversation with Faith Ca.s.sidy. "What is it, Nigel?" he snapped, irritated at being interrupted.

The Brit grinned smugly. "Where's your wife?"

"Why?"

"She's usually smarter about monitoring your f.u.c.king p.e.c.k.e.r."

Cohen pursed his lips. "Why do you like ha.s.sling me so much?"

"Because it's so f.u.c.king easy." Faraday gestured with his gla.s.s. "Our new leader has summoned you to the study. By the way, he's calling himself 'Christian' now."

Cohen rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"Sit down, Ben." Gillette motioned toward the two chairs in front of the desk.

Cohen chose the one farthest from the door.

"I need your help."

"I want to help in any way I can, Christian. Especially right now when you're just taking over."

Gillette studied Cohen's expression, trying to determine whether the signs of submission were sincere. "Senator Stockman wants to meet with me, and I need someone else in here while we talk." Gillette watched Cohen relax. He understood that a new order had just been established, and that he was now second in command. "Just so there's no misunderstanding later about what was said."

"Thanks," said Cohen, looking down. "I appreciate your including me."

Gillette waited for Cohen's eyes to come back up to his. "Did you talk to Mason?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And you were right, Christian. One drink and Troy wouldn't shut up. He's definitely bitter. Apparently, Donovan was planning to step down at the end of the year and turn everything over to Troy."

Gillette nodded. It was exactly as he'd thought. "How about Miss Ca.s.sidy? Did you talk to her?"

Before Cohen could answer, the door opened and Senator Stockman walked into the study. He was tall and distinguished, with silver hair and a healthy tint to his skin. He strode purposefully to the desk and extended his hand without glancing at Cohen.

"Look at you, Mr. Gillette," Stockman said as they shook. "Suddenly you're a powerful young man."

Gillette motioned for Stockman to sit in the chair beside Cohen's. He'd met the senator several times over the last few years but always in Donovan's presence. Before today, Stockman never seemed to remember his name.

"It's such a terrible thing about Bill," Stockman observed, crossing his legs at the knee as he sat down. "But one man's loss is another's gain. Isn't that true, Mr. Gillette?"

"It's a zero-sum world," Gillette agreed quickly, gesturing toward Cohen. "Senator, meet Ben Cohen."

Stockman tilted his head slightly without looking over. "What do you think happened to your boss, Mr. Gillette? Was it an accident like the police are saying? Or did Bill have help filling his lungs with water?"

"Why would I think Bill was murdered?"

"Because if you'd come out of the church thirty seconds earlier, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

The office went deathly still for a few moments.

"Why did you want to see me?" Gillette finally asked.

"I thought it made sense for us to get together as soon as possible." The senator smiled. "To talk about ways we can work together."

Stockman and Donovan had never gotten along. They'd always made a point of being good at public palm-pressing, but they were at opposite ends of the political spectrum, and that had ultimately turned into an intense personal dislike. There was no chance that they would have ever helped each other. But maybe there was an opportunity here.

Gillette opened one hand and gestured. "I'm interested."

"I'd like to ask a few questions about Everest first."

"Go ahead."

"How many companies do you control?"

"Twenty-seven."

"And how much do those companies have in combined sales?"

"Wait a minute," Cohen objected. "That information is highly confidential."

"It's fine, Ben," Gillette said smoothly. "Senator Stockman would never disclose anything confidential about us to anyone. Would you, Senator?"

Stockman smiled thinly. "Of course not."

"Answer the question, Ben."

Cohen took an irritated breath. "The twenty-seven companies have combined sales of over eighty billion dollars."

"How many employees is that?"

Cohen shot Gillette a quick look.

"Tell him."

"Almost a million."

"A million million employees," the senator said wistfully. "That's a lot of votes. How many of those companies are you chairman of, Christian?" employees," the senator said wistfully. "That's a lot of votes. How many of those companies are you chairman of, Christian?"

"Seven," Cohen answered for Gillette. "But with Bill's death, as the new chairman of Everest Capital, Christian will automatically take those chair positions as well. That's another thirteen."

"Jesus. Chairman of twenty companies. And And chairman of Everest." Stockman chuckled. "I hope they can clone you, Christian. Otherwise, you won't have time to take a c.r.a.p let alone-" chairman of Everest." Stockman chuckled. "I hope they can clone you, Christian. Otherwise, you won't have time to take a c.r.a.p let alone-"

"What do you want, Senator?"

Stockman folded his hands in his lap. "In a few days I'm going to announce my candidacy for president," he explained, his voice low. "I want Everest Capital's support, specifically those million votes. Employees listen to their chairman."

Over the last few weeks, Gillette had heard rumors about a Stockman campaign for the White House.

"As you know," Stockman continued, "I'm a Democrat. As you also also know, Bill Donovan was a conservative. A senior member of the Republican National Committee, in fact. It never made sense to ask him for help. I would have had better luck with a brick wall. But I hear you're different. I hear that even though you grew up in Beverly Hills, you relate to the common man. To the blue-collar set, especially minorities. Those people are a significant piece of my const.i.tuency. So, I want your support, Christian. I want you to tell all those Everest employees to vote for me, and I want you to be active behind the scenes. Calling on people who matter and getting them to support me." Stockman glanced at Cohen for the first time. "We're not talking about a one-way street here." He ran the fingertips of his hand over the lapel of his suit jacket. "As I'm sure you both know, I have friends in high places. At the Securities and Exchange Commission, for instance." He paused. "Over the years Everest Capital has made billions selling companies it controls to the public. True, Mr. Cohen?" know, Bill Donovan was a conservative. A senior member of the Republican National Committee, in fact. It never made sense to ask him for help. I would have had better luck with a brick wall. But I hear you're different. I hear that even though you grew up in Beverly Hills, you relate to the common man. To the blue-collar set, especially minorities. Those people are a significant piece of my const.i.tuency. So, I want your support, Christian. I want you to tell all those Everest employees to vote for me, and I want you to be active behind the scenes. Calling on people who matter and getting them to support me." Stockman glanced at Cohen for the first time. "We're not talking about a one-way street here." He ran the fingertips of his hand over the lapel of his suit jacket. "As I'm sure you both know, I have friends in high places. At the Securities and Exchange Commission, for instance." He paused. "Over the years Everest Capital has made billions selling companies it controls to the public. True, Mr. Cohen?"

"True."

"In fact, one of my aides told me you still own big pieces of several of those companies. In addition to those twenty-seven companies you own outright. Is my information accurate?"

Cohen nodded.

"With all the scrutiny on corporate accounting and control these days, public offerings can easily get bogged down by SEC bulls.h.i.t. Even shelved sometimes."

Cohen flashed Gillette an angry look, antic.i.p.ating what was coming.

"Obviously, that's not something you want," Stockman pointed out, following Cohen's glance. "I can help you there." He raised his eyebrows. "Or not."

"Hold on," Cohen snapped. "We've taken fifteen companies public over the last ten years. We know plenty of people who can-"

"Have someone in your office call my a.s.sistant," Gillette instructed Stockman, cutting off the conversation. There was no need for this to escalate. Not right now, anyway. "Her name is Debbie." He rose and moved out from behind the desk. "Have them arrange a lunch for us next week," he continued, taking Stockman's hand, helping him up out of the chair and guiding him to the door. "We'll go to the Racquet Club. Would you like that?"

"That's a nice place, Christian. I haven't been there in a while. Yes, I would like that."

Gillette opened the door. "I look forward to hearing more about your campaign, Senator."

"Thank you."

"What a p.r.i.c.k," Cohen muttered when Stockman was gone. "Threatening us like that with his SEC contacts. Like we're babes in the woods when it comes to IPOs. And telling us he's so d.a.m.n sensitive about minorities. I've checked his track record, Christian. He's big business all the way. He's just got a great PR machine behind him."

"Have Tom McGuire put together a report on him," Gillette instructed, sitting back down. "Tell him to get me everything on the guy. I want it by tomorrow afternoon."

"You'll have it," Cohen promised.

"And, Ben, I don't want to have to show someone out of a room like that again. You'll do those things from now on. Got it?"

"Uh-huh," Cohen agreed hesitantly. As though he wasn't sure he wanted to be anyone's butler.

There was a soft tap on the door, and Gillette's eyes flicked to Cohen's.

Cohen rose and moved to the door. "Now Richard Harris wants time," he called.

"Fine."

Cohen gave the okay to Harris's messenger.

"Do you think Mason is having affairs with women who work at his portfolio companies?" Gillette asked. Mason was chairman of the other seven Everest-controlled companies, and there were always rumors that he used his position to manipulate women into bed. But nothing had ever been proven.

"I . . . I don't know."

"I didn't ask if you knew, knew, Ben. Just what you Ben. Just what you thought. thought."

"I don't want to speculate. Troy's my business partner. And my friend."

"d.a.m.n it, Ben, tell me what you think." tell me what you think."

Cohen squinted and adjusted his gla.s.ses. "I'd guess it's possible."