The rain over Lower Manhattan had ceased by midnight, leaving the glass monolith of 55 Hudson Yards reflected in dark, mirror-like street puddles.
On the forty-second floor, the high-gloss white marble floors of the Vance & Sterling executive wing were utterly silent. The bright trading monitors that had buzzed with arrogance twelve hours prior were now dimmed to a low, spectral blue.
In the master boardroom, Arthur Vance sat at the head of a thirty-foot obsidian table.
He looked ten years older than he had that morning. His silk tie was unbuttoned, his charcoal jacket draped over the back of his chair, and his hand trembled slightly as he raised a glass of ice water to his dry lips. Surrounding him were six senior managing partners, four chief risk officers, and two forensic accountant
