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“I’ home,” Paul said

He left Sandy’s apart would it be before Sandy disot into the back of the chauffeured Bentley and slammed the door Would he lose the car as well? Would he lose everything? At the moment, he couldn’t keep up his lifestyle or even his apartment without his job Yes, technically, he had plenty ofup and down and, like the pot of gold at the end of a rainboas iht , at which point he could cash out hat could be a billion dollars

Unable to stop thinking about Sandy and how Sandy planned to ruin him, Paul spent the next thirty-six hours in his apart, even his fish couldn’t soothe hihborhood On the table in the foyer, he found The New York Ti rooes And then he found the answer to his problem with Sandy on the cover of the arts section

It was a story—coraphs taken from a portrait of Queen Mary—about the unsolvedthat Sandy fit the profile of an art thief, David Porshie had arranged the story, thinking it ht draw out someone who had information on the cross

Now, reading the story while squatting on his haunches, Paul Rice put two and two together He sat back, and as he explored the potential results of piecing together this inforrew exponentially in his le a stolen artifact, he would be too busy to fire Paul Indeed, Paul would go further—with Sandy gone, he could insert hi his position Then he’d be running the fund, and Sandy, having garnered hi It would all be his, Paul thought Then and only then would he be safe

Taking the newspaper with him, he went out to the Internet café on Astor Place He did so the information he needed, constructed a fake e- Akio Then he co Akio—had seen the cross in the home of Sandy Brewer Paul addressed the e-mail to the reporter who’d written the piece in the Ti it satisfactory, hit “send”

Heading out into the weekend bustle of lower Broadway, Paul felt calm for the first ti about how no one was safe in the infore But for the moment, at least, he was

17

For Billy Litchfield, April brought not only spring showers but debilitating tooth pain The miserable weather was exacerbated by what felt like one endless visit to the dentist’s office A dull pain that grew into a pounding percussion of agony finally drove him to the dentist, where an X-ray revealed that he had not one, but two decaying roots deery The situation required several appointas, antibiotics, soft foods, and thankfully, Vicodin to ease the pain

“I don’t understand,” Billy protested to the dentist “I’ve never had even a cavity” This was a bit of an exaggeration, but nevertheless, Billy’s teeth—which were naturally white and straight, requiring only two years of braces as a child—had always been a source of pride

The dentist shrugged “Get used to it,” he said “It’s part of getting older Circulation goes to hell, and the teeth are the first to go”

This e of Prozac He’d never been at the mercy of his body, and he found the experience not only hu every important achievement in his life What the philosophers said was true: In the end, there was only decay and death, and in deat

h, everyone was equal

One afternoon while he was recovering from the latest injustice done to his jaw (a tooth had been removed and afor the fake tooth to be constructed in the lab), there was a knock on his door

The er in a navy blue Ralph Lauren suit Before Billy could respond, the e at him “Detective Frank Sabatini,” he said “Can I come in?”