The bronze chandeliers in the private trading salon of the Hague Financial Center trembled as Lord Leopold slammed both palms flat against the mahogany conference table. Surrounding him sat the chief investment officers of six allied metropolitan hedge funds, their faces pale under the glow of cascading market monitors. Outside the arched windows, the towers of the financial district rose into the morning haze, seemingly indifferent to the desperation gathering within the room.
Ethan broke Raymond Voss, but the fool has cornered himself in his own web, Leopold snarled, his breath rasping through clenched teeth as he leaned over the terminal readouts. He poured fifty billion dollars into Capital Commerce and the municipal credit lines to play the hero for the street crowds. His operational
