"Most of them are doing fine. We have problems with a few, but that's normal, Ann. I'm sure Bill told you stories about things that happened to our companies."

"No, he didn't."

"Oh."

"Are there any big big problems the world hasn't heard about?" problems the world hasn't heard about?"

There were always problems, but she didn't need to hear about them. "No."

"What about the companies that were taken public? The ones that trade on the stock exchanges and Everest still owns shares of?"

Gillette felt his pulse tick up slightly. "They're all fine," he said calmly. "Why?"

"I heard there might be problems."

"Heard?"

"From someone."

"Someone?" Gillette leaned forward in his chair. Stockman was already at work. "Who was it?" He wanted her to confirm his suspicions.

"It doesn't matter," she said quickly. "What does does matter is that I've been offered a lot of money for my ownership stake. A matter is that I've been offered a lot of money for my ownership stake. A lot lot of money," she repeated. "Not as much as I'd get by holding on to it until you sell all the portfolio companies over the next few years. But of course that a.s.sumes there aren't any problems with the portfolio, too. That a.s.sumes everything goes smoothly and that you can sell all those companies for big price tags. But if it turns out there of money," she repeated. "Not as much as I'd get by holding on to it until you sell all the portfolio companies over the next few years. But of course that a.s.sumes there aren't any problems with the portfolio, too. That a.s.sumes everything goes smoothly and that you can sell all those companies for big price tags. But if it turns out there are are problems, I'll be very sorry I didn't accept this offer." problems, I'll be very sorry I didn't accept this offer."

Gillette sat in his office staring at the ceiling. It was seven o'clock and the only light in the office came from the computer screen.

He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled heavily. The widow wouldn't say who had told her there were problems in the Everest portfolio and that she ought to get out now for a discounted price, but he was certain Stockman was involved. The timing was too coincidental. If it turned out Marcie hadn't been diligent enough while Everest controlled Dominion and there were problems with the loan portfolio-or, worse, there was fraud-the fallout would rain down on Everest. Gillette could see the headlines: "Market Manipulation." "Insider Dealings." Raising a $15 billion fund-any fund-would quickly become impossible.

The problem was he didn't know who to believe: Stockman or Marcie. The auditors had been all over Dominion before the IPO, but in a $40 billion loan portfolio, experienced auditors could still miss things. Lots of things. Even if Stockman was bluffing, it might not matter. In the Internet age, rumors could be just as devastating as facts.

Maybe Stockman hadn't been the one to actually approach the widow, Gillette thought to himself. Maybe it had been one of his aides or someone involved in the campaign. Maybe Stockman had made the call to Ann Donovan to set up the meeting with whoever had actually delivered the message so it didn't look like he knew anything. Just him doing her a favor. He and Ann had known each other socially for a long time, and it would be appropriate for him to help her if he happened to hear important information. Even though Stockman and Bill Donovan had hated each other, Stockman and the widow always got along-probably because they shared a common loathing. The outside world didn't know the extent of the animosity between the two men. In public, at the never-ending string of charity functions, they behaved as though they were friends. But, down deep, they despised each other.

The widow was seriously considering selling her Everest stake. Gillette had no doubt of that after their conversation today. Which created a huge huge problem. If she sold it, that 25 percent voting block she controlled would fall into someone else's hands, someone who would undoubtedly want to install his own chairman. problem. If she sold it, that 25 percent voting block she controlled would fall into someone else's hands, someone who would undoubtedly want to install his own chairman.

If Stockman was responsible for putting the fear of Jesus into the widow, then he had to be working with someone else. He didn't have the resources to buy her position-$2 billion a.s.suming a 50 percent discount to Cohen's $4 billion estimate of its value. In fact, there were very few people who did have that kind of wherewithal and and would have an interest in buying it. Gillette could count on the fingers of one hand who it might be-and Paul Strazzi was at the top of the list. And Strazzi's call to Troy Mason right after the funeral reception proved he had a mole inside Everest. would have an interest in buying it. Gillette could count on the fingers of one hand who it might be-and Paul Strazzi was at the top of the list. And Strazzi's call to Troy Mason right after the funeral reception proved he had a mole inside Everest.

Gillette hadn't heard any rumors of a Strazzi-Stockman connection, and, if you'd been at the top of the financial food chain long enough, you usually would. He considered putting Tom McGuire on it-to confirm a Strazzi-Stockman connection. Tom had already done all the background work on Stockman, so it would be easier. But he didn't know if he could trust Tom anymore. It would have to be Stiles.

Maybe it made sense to sell McGuire & Company back to Tom and his brother cheaply, Gillette thought to himself. Maybe then he could trust them again. Maybe it was worth $200 million after all.

Gillette groaned as he dropped his feet to the floor. These were the tough times. When there was no one to trust.

There was a sharp knock on the door.

"Come in," Gillette called. Despite the feeble light, he recognized Faraday's round face at the doorway. "Have a seat."

"Yes, sir," Faraday shot back sarcastically, moving into the office and dropping heavily into a chair in front of the desk.

"What's the problem, Nigel?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why the hostility?"

"f.u.c.k off."

"You been drinking?"

"I was downstairs for a while," Faraday admitted, slurring his words.

"Downstairs" meant the steak place on the first floor. In the back of the restaurant there was a pub with dark paneled walls and friendly bartenders. All of whom Faraday knew well.

"How many scotches?"

"None of your f.u.c.king business."

"Nigel, we can't work this way. I know why you're p.i.s.sed off, but there's nothing I can do about it. The limited partners elected me. You've got to get past it."

"You could give me one company to be chairman of, Christian. Just one. That would help."

"Look, I-"

"And you didn't have to tell Marcie Reed she was going to run the money-raise for Fund VIII."

"What?"

"She came into my office a few hours ago looking for our investor lists. Said when you promoted her to managing partner, you made her chairwoman of six of our companies and and told her she could co-raise the new fund with me." told her she could co-raise the new fund with me."

Gillette rolled his eyes. Marcie only knew one speed and one direction-full ahead. "I never told her that. What I told her was that in a few cases she could help. I hope you didn't give her the lists."

"Of course not."

Managing thirty type-A personalities was going to be h.e.l.l. That was clear. "Let's talk about Fund VIII," Gillette suggested. "You're going to need to hire at least two people, and probably-"

"I want a company," Faraday interrupted, his voice a monotone.

"Nigel, let it go."

"I want a company," he repeated, standing up. "I deserve one." he repeated, standing up. "I deserve one."

"It's not about deserving deserving one. It's about knowing how to run one. You don't. You're the fund-raiser at Everest. You're the expert at that." one. It's about knowing how to run one. You don't. You're the fund-raiser at Everest. You're the expert at that."

"I don't care about raising money right now." He took a step around the desk. "I want a company, d.a.m.n it."

Gillette stood up. Over the Brit's shoulder, he saw Stiles at the door. But he shook him off. He wouldn't need help with Faraday. "Don't do this, Nigel. You'll regret it."

Faraday stopped a few feet away. "What are you gonna do, Christian, fire me, too? Like you did Troy. You gonna get rid of all of us?"

"Don't let the scotch talk you into a mistake."

"You think you're so f.u.c.king superior, Chris." Faraday blinked slowly, his eyes gla.s.sy. "Now, are you going to make me chairman of at least one company?"

"No."

"You f.u.c.king son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!" Faraday lunged, aiming for Gillette's chin.

He was faster than Gillette had antic.i.p.ated, but nowhere nearly fast enough. Gillette avoided the punch easily and landed a swift, straight blow to Faraday's stomach, catching the Brit by the throat as he doubled over, thumb and forefinger closing tightly around the soft skin of the man's pudgy neck. As Faraday slumped to his knees, Gillette grabbed the other man's right wrist, rotated it inward and brought it up almost to the back of his neck. Then he forced Faraday's face against the wall.

"Let me go," Faraday gasped.

"I warned you, Nigel." Gillette jerked him to his feet, bringing his wrist to the small of his back, then pushed him toward the door. Finally, he shoved him through the doorway roughly. "Go home and sleep it off," Gillette called as Faraday stumbled toward the lobby. He glanced over at Stiles, who was grinning. "What's your problem?"

"Where'd you learn that?"

"Green Berets."

"Yeah, sure. You didn't-"

"Come in for a second," Gillette interrupted, heading back into his office. "I need to talk to you."

"Okay."

"I need you to check out something else for me," Gillette said when the door was closed.

"In addition to identifying the Strazzi mole and finding out who sent you the e-mail last night right before you were attacked?"

Gillette had spoken to Stiles about those things after his meeting with Marcie Reed. "Yeah."

"What else you need?"

"The guy I just promoted this afternoon."

"Kyle Lefors."

"Right." Gillette liked the way Stiles was on top of everything. "Check out his background."

A confused expression came to Stiles's face. "I thought I read that he's been here for five years."

"That's right."

"Why check out his background now?"

"I need to know if he really grew up in Louisiana." Gillette looked up. "Oh, and one other thing."

"George."

"Yes?"

"It's me. Paul."

"Yes?"

"The widow met with Gillette this afternoon and delivered the news. It went off perfectly. She's very scared."

"How do you know? Did she call?"

"No," answered Strazzi.

"Then how do you know?"

Strazzi realized he shouldn't be saying this on a cell phone, but he couldn't help himself. He had to tell someone. "I have a contact inside Everest."

"You have every angle covered, don't you, Paul?"

"Always."

Gillette and Whitman were meeting in the same conference room they had met in before. In all the time Gillette had known Whitman, they'd never met in his office. Gillette knew it was precautionary on Whitman's part. As the chief investment officer of the country's largest insurance company, Whitman was constantly in the middle of confidential transactions-often as the money backing one side of a hostile takeover. Whitman couldn't afford to have outsiders see something sensitive on his desk or credenza and word of a big public transaction leaking out. So he always met with people in conference rooms.

"Thanks for getting together with me on such short notice, Miles."

"No problem. What's up?"

"I need your advice, and maybe your help."

"What about?"

"Donovan's widow."

"Oh?" Whitman straightened up in his chair.

"She came by my office today to let me know that her stake in Everest was very important to her."

Whitman spread his hands. "And this was a surprise to you? I don't see the significance. Don't take this the wrong way, Christian, but I've got to get out of here as soon as I can. I'm late for a-"

"Someone's been telling her there are problems with the Everest portfolio."

Whitman stopped talking and stared.

"So she's concerned," Gillette continued, glancing at Whitman's bow tie. A conservative dark blue today.

"Are there problems with the portfolio?" asked Whitman quietly. there problems with the portfolio?" asked Whitman quietly.

"You know how these things go," Gillette answered. "Portfolio companies are like children. There are always problems."

"Any big big problems?" problems?"

"Not that I know of, but the widow's spooked."

"Tell her everything's fine and send her a box of candy. There's nothing she can really do about it."