Reckless by Andrew Gross Page B

prepared to give him five million! How could he turn that kind of security away?
    At first, it had been easy. Like with all sure things, it was easy to lure yourself in, justify it. Hard to pull yourself out.
    It had made sense. For his family. Buddies of his, people he had gone to B-school with, they made that in a crappy year. Lapping up homes in the Hamptons. Shares in private jets. Renting villas in the Caribbean. Fancy wine cellars.
    Why not him?
    Besides, the firm was basically tapioca now. Tanking. He was just part of the picture.
    But then everything changed. That guy from Wertheimer, in Greenwich. That changed the whole effing thing. Every time James thought of him he broke out in a clammy sweat.
    They killed the guy’s whole family.
    He led Remi farther up the block on the leash. He noticed the black SUV parked up the street from his building. The windows were blacked out, but still he thought he saw a face, the same face, one he’d seen before, watching.
    Was he going crazy? Hadn’t he seen the same vehicle yesterday? As he came home from the office. The same man behind the glass. Hadn’t he been there the day before, when he and Leslie had snuck out for a bite? He’d asked the doorman. Hadn’t noticed it before. Manny just laughed and said, “Probably driving some big shot in 225 over there, Mr. Donovan.”
    Yeah, some big shot, Manny. James wondered if the guy from Wertheimer had ever felt someone tracking him.
    Or he could just have been making it all up. Driving himself nuts. He tugged on the dog. C’mon, do your thing. He felt like he was running on amphetamines. Like his brain was about to explode.
    James knew, really knew, it was too late. Too late to undo everything. You’ve made your bed, Jimbo. You wanted it both ways. Now he just had to see it through.
    If he came clean, he’d be fired on the spot. Probably prosecuted. Serve jail time. At the very least, he’d be banned from the business for life. What else did he know how to do? Christ, he was just thirty-two.
    No, the better option was to simply see it through. Take the rest of the money. This thing with Marc Glassman just had him spooked.
    He glanced at the parked SUV again.
    James dragged Remi into the lobby. Carlos, the overnight attendant, waved, mopping the floor. Third time he had seen him this week. He must be wondering…
    Upstairs, James unleashed the dog, took off his parka, flicked on Bloomberg. He took a glimpse at the overnights from Asia. Downward pressure again. The spread was like a spike driven into his heart. He grabbed a Dove bar out of the freezer and went back down the hall. Looked in on Zach sleeping. It was after three now. In two hours he had to get up and cover his trades.
    How had he let his life fall apart?
    In the bedroom, the light was now on. His wife, Leslie, sat up in bed and watched him come in. She’d noticed changes in him for weeks. Clamming up. Shutting her out. Not wanting to play with Zach.
    James was sweating. His face was empty. He could no longer hold the tide back. He sat down, and she crawled up beside him worriedly and took his hand. He didn’t know what else to do except clasp on tight to hers.
    Could he tell her?
    Could he ever admit what he’d done?
    “What’s going on with you, Jimmy?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
    T hanks for coming in, Ty.”
    Hauck sat across from Tom Foley at San Pietro, a block from Talon’s Fifty-fifth Street headquarters. Foley had ordered a Belvedere vodka on the rocks with olives, and Hauck, who never drank during the day, asked for a beer. He had brought with him the file he’d assembled on Thibault and needed an okay before proceeding. Foley suggested lunch. The leather booth in the back gave them some privacy from the lunchtime crowd.
    “Cheers.” Foley tilted his glass. “Here’s to staying afloat in the storm. Funny”—the Talon director chuckled—“some of the guys and I were just tossing out a few ideas, Ty, where we think you can be useful to the