Nathan Cross believed in one rule above all others.
Never give a suspect time to prepare.
At eight o'clock the following morning, he, Damien, Roman and Vivian parked across the street from a quiet brownstone in Brooklyn.
The brass plaque beside the front gate read:
Edward Langston
Financial Consultant
Cross looked at Margaret's file one last time.
"He's been her adviser for nearly fifteen years."
"Long before Halcyon existed."
Damien frowned.
"So if he's involved..."
"...it wasn't where this started."
Cross nodded.
"Exactly."
Roman adjusted his jacket.
"Let's hope he's willing to talk."
---
Edward Langston answered the door himself.
He was in his early sixties, neatly dressed, with silver hair and the calm confidence of a man accustomed to handling other people's fortunes
