Death Of A Dream Maker by Katy Munger

Sterling & Sterling—always—was aboveboard.
The bank's reputation was its single greatest asset.
    “T.S.” Preston Freeman rose from his chair and
extended a hand. His smile was genuine, as it should have been—T.S.
had once saved his bacon and was largely responsible for his being
head of the firm today. “What can I do for you? It has been a
while, hasn't it?”
    T.S. agreed and settled down in the visitor's chair,
a lush green-leather contraption with brass studs peppering its
surface and carved horn armrests. Everything at Sterling &
Sterling reeked of animal sacrifice, he realized suddenly. Didn't
anyone ever just give the firm a nice set of silver?
    “I need some information,” T.S. explained without
preamble. Preston Freeman was too busy and too astute to appreciate
being bushwhacked from behind. “It's about a friend of my aunt's.”
He explained the situation, including Max's death. Freeman nodded
—he'd read about it in the news section of his computer information
network. “I think there was a representative from Sterling and
Sterling at the funeral,” T.S. continued, acutely aware that he had
suddenly snagged the managing partner's undivided attention. He was
also uncomfortably reminded that he was perilously close to asking
Freeman to commit the ultimate indiscretion: betrayal of a client's
confidence.
    “It's a personal matter,” T.S. hurried on. “Hard to
explain. My aunt is obsessed.” He spread his hands and shrugged,
hoping that Freeman remembered Auntie Lil. It would render an
explanation unnecessary.
    “I've met your aunt,” Freeman agreed amiably, and
nodded for T.S. to continue.
    “I'm wondering if Max Rosenbloom or Max Rose Fashions
was a client here,” T.S. finished. “No details, of course, I could
never ask you to”—he coughed nervously—“betray any client 
confidences.”          
    Oh hell, he was out of practice when it came to
discreet conversation, a side effect from hanging out with Auntie
Lil. He let his words trail off and waited uncomfortably to be
rescued by Freeman.
    “I'm certain he was a client,” the partner admitted.
“I see no reason why that should not be public knowledge. We
handled a number of transactions for his firm in our corporate
finance area when I was there full-time.” Freeman swiveled in his
chair to a nearby terminal and moved his fingers rapidly over the
keys. Screens faded, new ones appeared, instructions were typed,
and lists of names began to scroll with a greenish glow. “We did
work for his firm several years ago and— ” Suddenly he stopped and
sat up straight. He briskly shut off the computer and turned back
to T.S., his friendly manner a shade cooler. “I have erred. There
may be a confidential matter involving Max Rose Fashions currently
in play here at the firm. I must ask you to respect the
confidentiality of that information. However...” Freeman's eyes
shifted to the telephone and he hesitated, curiosity batting with
discretion. But even financial geniuses are human. Curiosity
won.
    “Just a moment, please,” he said to T.S., and punched
out a four-digit extension. T.S. knew that meant he was calling
another department at Sterling & Sterling. “Regina?” he asked
pleasantly. “This is Mr. Freeman. Bob around?” Of course Bob was
around. Everyone was around when the managing partner called. In
fact, Bob was on the line within five seconds. “Bob, are you
handling something for Max Rosenbloom right now? Of Max Rose
Fashions?” There was a short silence. “Indeed? What are the
particulars?” More silence. “I see. Have you consulted Legal on
this one? What is our exposure?” Another silence—and another twinge
in T.S.'s gut. “When do you think? All right. I'll handle it. But I
need to know more. Be down here this afternoon with the file.”
    Preston Freeman hung up the phone and regarded T.S.
without expression. It was more than unnerving. It was downright
ominous. Abruptly, the partner jumped to