Charles Bennett had chosen not to go into the office early. He sat waiting in his den for confirmation from Serrano that his men had completed their task the night before. The drug lord would call with the details then fax him a photo of the man as proof the deed had been accomplished.
An unfamiliar case of nerves had him in its grip. Not used to being at the mercy of others or in a situation where he had lost control, he was distressed it happened here. The entire debacle distracted him from his regular business, and he struggled to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks. He had good executives he could depend on, men he trusted who had nothing to do with his other activities. But even they were beginning to ask him if he had a problem.
He also had to hope everyone on his ghost pa
