Three suicides. Three identical trades. One hedge fund that has never posted a losing month in nineteen years. NYPD detective Adrian Vance has been ordered to close the files. The notes are signed. The widows have lawyers. Every death is clean - too clean. Because each dead man placed the same impossible trade in the seventy-two hours before he died, and every dollar routed into the same Manhattan fund: Meridian Crest Capital, a firm whose books have never once gone red. What begins as a rubber-stamp review becomes a conspiracy spanning borough lines, a Cayman shell company, the U.S. Senate Banking Committee, and a Russian oligarch whose passport hasn't touched American soil in twelve years. Adrian is six months out of a divorce and one bad week from a desk job. He is not supposed to care this much. But the fourth body on this case is going to be his - unless he decides to make it someone else's. Dark, propulsive, and surgically precise, this financial-crimes thriller will keep you reading until the final room, the final window, and the choice only one man can make. Don't close the file. Start the book.
