THE CEO

The Empire State Building had stood for more than six decades as a monument to engineering and a beacon of American financial power. And on its entire thirty-first floor, Michael Leonard Brown kept his secrets.

The company Brown had incorporated in New York was called Securities Enterprises, Inc. On paper, it was an international stock brokerage. On paper, it was also owned by a foreign conglomerate. Brown had made certain his own name appeared nowhere in the filings.

The floor itself was plain: four large offices on each side of the building and, facing the south end of the city, one enormous corner suite. When Brown was in town, the suite was his.

“The Securities and Exchange Commission is on our tail again,” said Epstein.

Epstein was Brown’s most trusted personal attorney, and he had carried the news down the hall on foot rather than trust it to a phone.

Brown turned from the window. At two hundred and fifty pounds, he turned slowly, and the room seemed to feel it. “We have a lot of people on the payroll. Is there anyone we can own inside the SEC?”

“Since the new chairman took over at the SEC, Washington has been going over questionable transactions with a magnifying glass,” Epstein said carefully. “And you ordered our last insider fired.”

Epstein knew that in Brown’s vocabulary, “fired” meant “murdered.” He kept the list of Brown’s professional assassins in the back of his mind, the way another man keeps the number for a doctor.

“Then damn it, keep trying!” Brown’s face flushed and his hands shook with rage.

A long moment passed. Then he lowered himself into his chair, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm.

“It isn’t just the SEC, Epstein. The whole thing is starting to collapse.”

Brown swiveled to face his favorite view of the city. Epstein moved closer and spoke in a low, soothing voice.

“Give me three months to transfer the assets, and we close up shop, just as we discussed.”

Brown knew he was right. It would take at least three months to unload his illegally held shares in the insurance companies he controlled across the country. He had built shell corporation after shell corporation to buy them and keep a majority stake. His largest holding was Trust Mutual.

Brown also sat as Trust Mutual’s CEO, and he steered it toward profit by denying most large claims and by manipulating the legal system, buying and coercing anyone in authority. With his other companies, once he had pushed the stock high enough, he sold into the inflated market and walked away before the inevitable collapse. He had done it again and again. He had nearly perfected the craft.

But his skill and his luck were running out, and he knew it.

The office door opened. A tall woman entered carrying a silver tray with a glass of water and a pill.

His mood stabilizer.

Brown suffered from severe and dangerous mood swings. The medication had tamed the depression, but it had never tamed the temper.

“Thank you, Ms. Anderson,” he said. He swallowed the pill and drained the glass.

Years had passed, but Epstein had never forgotten what Brown did to Alfred Matos. Matos had stolen from one of Brown’s companies. Brown found him in an alley. When it was over, there was little left of the man’s face on the pavement. No one crossed Michael Brown, and Matos had learned that too late.

And Matos was not the worst of it. At fourteen, Brown had drowned his own mother in the family swimming pool. She had been harsh with him, physically and verbally abusive, and as Brown himself once told Epstein, she got what she deserved. He held her under until she stopped moving. Then he kept swimming beside her body, and he played in that water for hours.

Epstein feared him. But Epstein had learned to walk on eggshells without breaking them.

When the door closed behind Ms. Anderson, Brown looked back at him.

“Interpol. The SEC. The CIA. They’re all getting too close to our business.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s close up shop, Epstein. Move everything to the offshore accounts.”

Epstein looked like a man whose burden had just been lifted. He nodded again and again.

“A wise decision. We’ll start winding down from up here, as planned.” At the door, he turned. “Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Brown. Consider it done.”

“Good.” Brown rose and followed him toward the door. “I have a plane to catch to Boston. We’ll keep in touch about our progress.”

He walked out of his office and went straight to the elevator. He did not look back at the view he loved.

Within three months, there would be nothing left on the thirty-first floor to find.