“Thank you.”

“Have you ever been up to the offices before, Mrs. Denniston?”

“No. Wren very much liked to keep his personal and business lives separate.”

“A fine policy,” said Nettles. “An excellent policy.”

“In fact,” she said, “he never mentioned you to me.”

“As I said, I’ve only just come aboard. I’ve been hoping to have a chat with you in the last couple of days, but I’ve held back because of the tragic circumstances. But now here you are. And with your lawyer, no less.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed, glanced at me, and then let his gaze wander up to my gelled hair. “So what can I do for you both?”

“As you are aware, Mr. Nettles,” I said, “the death of Mrs. Denniston’s husband has been a cruel shock. But that doesn’t mean the necessities of life halt.”

“Of course they don’t,” said Nettles.

“And as her attorney I’ve advised Mrs. Denniston that she has the responsibility to look after her late husband’s assets.”

“Of course she does.”

“And that is why we are here, Mr. Nettles. We need an accounting of Dr. Denniston’s financial stake in this company. And, if I may be blunt-”

“You may.”

“A sense of how his widow might turn it into ready cash.”

“Of course. That’s what anyone would want.”

“So when can we start?”

“Mrs. Denniston, Mr. Carl, please be aware that our records are completely open and you are more than welcome to send your accountants in to scour our books.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“As you can see, we have much more space than we need at present. We can set aside a few offices for your team to make itself at home while it examines every scrap of paper. With our files and databases, it shouldn’t take more than a few weeks to get a solid grip on the exact details. But maybe I can save you the expense.”

“That would be most kind,” said Julia.

“If you want a ballpark figure of the exact value of your husband’s share of Inner Circle, Mrs. Denniston, I could give that to you right now.”

“Are we talking liquid assets?” I said.

“Yes, I suppose.”

I leaned forward, smoothed the hair at my temple with the base of my palm, wiped my palm on the other palm and then back again, and then wiped both palms on my pant legs. Is it just me, or is the revelation of the exact numbers when dealing with great gouts of cash quite exhilarating? The number scrawled on a paper, the number given in a hushed tone, the first number in a lucrative negotiation.

“Go ahead, Mr. Nettles,” I said. “Make our day.”

“The value of Dr. Denniston’s share of Inner Circle Investments is” – he cleared his throat – “I’m afraid, nothing.”

My jaw dropped. I lifted a hand and pushed it back up. “Nothing?”

“Zilch. Zero. Nada. Actually, less than nada. Dada, you might say. I expect when the final numbers are run, and the lawsuits shake out, Dr. Denniston will owe Inner Circle quite a large amount.”

“How much?” said Julia matter-of-factly.

“I don’t want to give an exact figure now, but it is substantial, Mrs. Denniston. A full accounting will be presented to you shortly. I’m sorry to say that there will probably be litigation.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How could that be?”

“Well, you see,” said Nettles, “from what I understand, there was an embezzlement by a minor clerk at a small bank in Taipei.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “Mrs. Denniston is broke because of some corrupt clerk in Taiwan?”

“Yes, actually. When the theft was discovered, the bank collapsed. Which bankrupted a medium-size manufacturer in Jakarta. Which cut the supply line to a large manufacturer in Shanghai. Who failed then to satisfy its order to Wal-Mart. Which subsequently canceled its contract with the Shanghai manufacturer. When the news got out, the stock of the Shanghai manufacturer fell precipitously on the Hong Kong exchange. All of which provided barely a ripple in U.S. markets. Except for one hedge fund, which, while searching for undervalued foreign companies, had been quite long on the Shanghai manufacturer’s shares. A little too long, perhaps.”

“I’m not sure I’m getting the connection.”

“Are you aware of what Inner Circle Investments was, Mrs. Denniston?”

“No, not really. Wren didn’t talk about business with me at all.”

“Inner Circle was an investment vehicle in which funds were invested in a single entity, a specific hedge fund run out of Connecticut. One of the principals of the fund was Joseph Borden.”

“Wren’s oldest friend.”

“Exactly. The fund was primarily financed by institutional investors, but Mr. Borden granted Dr. Denniston the sole license to bring individual investors into the fund. Dr. Denniston invested pretty much all his own money and solicited funds from most of his friends and associates and their friends and associates. It was a cozy arrangement, actually. For the hedge fund, it meant a steady stream of cash; for Wren and his investors, the returns were outstanding. Everyone was happy until-”

“An embezzlement in Taipei,” I said.

“Yes, exactly. It’s funny how these things work, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly causing a tornado half a world away. The hedge fund didn’t survive the fall.”

“I bet the investors in Inner Circle were not very happy,” I said.

“The letters we have on file are heartbreaking.”

“You mind if I get a look?”

“No, of course not. If you have the time, Mr. Carl, I’ll make them available to you right after our meeting. And you should know, Mrs. Denniston, your husband fought valiantly to keep Inner Circle alive, paying out investors as best he could.”

“How could he pay them?” I asked.

“As I understand it, he mortgaged everything he had to keep Inner Circle going. And then, of course, people were still lining up to invest. The past performance of Inner Circle was excellent, and the demand remained high.”

“Didn’t they know the hedge fund had collapsed?”

“It appears, and this is being looked at now by the authorities” – Nettles leaned forward, lowered his voice – “the prospectus wasn’t updated.”

“But wouldn’t that be illegal?” said Julia.

“I’m afraid, yes,” said Nettles, with a touch too much glee. “Can you spell Ponzi?”

I tried to take all this in as Nettles smiled calmly at us and I felt the gel melt on my head and drip down in thick, oily rivulets. I didn’t mind that Wren Denniston, the man who stole my fiancée so many years ago, was a crook. I rather liked that. No, what was flooring me was the “nothing” word.

Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Dada. Mama. Crap.

I had thought that Julia would be loaded with her husband’s cash – it was an assumption underlying everything that had kept me up at night – but now that was disclosed to be another of my false dreams. Everything was mortgaged, everything was lost. Step back and be on your way, no money here. I looked at Julia, and she seemed to transmogrify right before my eyes into someone else, someone older and dowdier.

Sometimes I disgust even myself.

But I wasn’t the only one thrown for a loop here. Julia’s face was strangely serene, yet when I looked into her eyes I could tell that something was throwing her, badly. How could I be surprised at that? An empty bank account is enough to throw a horse. She was distressed, and I was distressed, and I bet all the Inner Circle investors were distressed, too. But our friend Ernest T. Nettles, he wasn’t showing a bit of anguish himself.

“What is your role in the company, exactly?” I said to Nettles. “Are you a partner? An accountant? What?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” said Nettles. “I thought you knew. I’ve just recently been brought on by the U.S. Trustee, who has been empowered by the bankruptcy judge to run what’s left of the company. I thought you knew that Inner Circle was in bankruptcy.”

“No,” said Julia.

“Your husband didn’t tell you?”