“But how could you get medical treatment if people already thought you were dead?” asked Peter.

“It’s easy to make up an identity for yourself if you can access the right computers, and it’s just as easy to set yourself up with a health plan. Living off the grid isn’t a problem when you know how the grid works, and I got a kick out sticking it to big insurance.”

“Here’s what I don’t get,” I said. “If you were so willing to walk away from your old life, what are you trying to do now? Why do you care about Igobe and its IPO enough to stop it?”

Leo reached over to scratch behind Scat’s ears. “Well, that’s the irony of it. I thought I didn’t care, but there’s nothing like thinking you really are going to die to make you realize what you care about. The technology I developed can do a lot of good, and the money to be made off it can be used to do more good.”

“And that’s why you were leaving the clues for the other bankers and me?” I asked. “You wanted us to help you figure out how to divert the money from Iggie and his investors to do good?”

“Exactly. I got all the information about the people Iggie was scheduled to meet from his own network at Igobe, and I left clues for them all. But you’re the only person who made it this far. You’d have to have a decent grounding in social justice to put the clues together. Power to the people, right?” Leo clinked his glass of orange juice against the lemonade I’d ordered, which had turned out to be a bad choice since the citrus made my cut lip sting.

“Did it occur to you to just call us, instead?” I asked, trying not to sound impatient. I knew he’d been through a lot, but he’d also made my weekend far more complicated than I would have liked.

“What would be the fun in that? And this way I could make it a test, you know? You were the hardest to track down, since you weren’t staying at a hotel. I had to hack into your office’s systems, too, to find out where you’d be this weekend, but that only took a couple of extra minutes. So. Can you help me?”

I was sure my colleagues at Winslow, Brown would be less than thrilled to learn how easy it was to breach our corporate firewalls, but right now I had to answer Leo’s question. “I wish I could, but that’s not what investment bankers do. It’s not like we’re all morally bereft or anything, but you don’t make partner by playing Robin Hood. Legally, the company and any money to be made off it belong to its shareholders.”

“Well, I used to be a shareholder in the first company, before Iggy reincorporated it as Igobe. But it would probably be a real production to stake any claim now everyone thinks I’m dead, and by the time I prove that I’m not dead and get everything straightened out, it will be too late, won’t it?”

“Probably,” I admitted. “You’d need to get a lot of lawyers involved, and you’d be looking at a pretty lengthy legal battle. Especially since we still have no way of proving that Alex tried to kill you, or that Iggie was involved in any way-it’s not as if we can charge them with anything criminal that would throw a wrench into the IPO process.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to go to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B? What are you going to do?” asked Luisa.

“Are you going to hack Igobe’s technology?” asked Peter.

“If you hack it, there won’t be any money to be made for anyone or for any cause, however good,” I pointed out. “Security software is worthless if it’s not secure.”

“No worries,” said Leo. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

“Will you tell me about it?” said Hilary. “So I can put it in my article?”

“Sure. But you might want to think about publishing your article online, and you might want to do it quick. Because twenty-four hours from now it will be old news.”

28

Tuesday morning dawned cool and cloudy, except for my skin, which dawned fluorescent with sunburn. My lip hadn’t been the only casualty of yesterday’s tennis game. My face and arms were now a startling shade of magenta, as were my legs from where the tennis dress I’d been wearing had ended down to where the tennis socks began. I was almost tempted to put on my new pink outfit rather than introduce a color outside of the cranberry family into the day’s look.

We’d spent the better part of the previous night with Leo, watching as he prepared to put Plan B into motion and helping out as best we could. Fortunately, Peter’s parents hadn’t been expecting us for dinner, nor had they been waiting up when we’d returned home a little after three in the morning, too tired to do anything but fall directly into bed. This was also fortunate because while we hadn’t discussed my suspicions of Caro any further, and while Peter slept wrapped around me in his usual way, I still felt as if the tension between us was almost palpable.

Our flight home was scheduled for early that afternoon, and we packed quickly upon waking. I spent a few extra minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, experimenting with powder and concealer as Peter carried our bags downstairs, but the cosmetics just made everything worse, so I rinsed my face clean again before joining him in the kitchen.

He must have warned his parents about my appearance, because they showed only concern rather than shock, and Susan pressed a tube of aloe vera cream on me. “We’ll have to make sure you’re more careful the next time you’re here,” she said, apparently unaware that the odds of there being a next time were slim.

They both had early appointments at their respective offices, so the goodbyes were hurried. “Are you sure we can’t take you to the airport later?” asked Charles.

“That’s all right,” Peter told him. “We’ve got a ride lined up.” Susan hugged us both, and Charles shook his son’s hand and patted me awkwardly on the shoulder.

I felt a pang of sadness as they left. They would have made nice in-laws, at least as far as in-laws went, but it seemed unlikely that I’d ever know for sure.

Abigail picked us up in her car, and then we stopped at the hotel to collect everyone else. Hilary and Ben added their bags to Peter’s and mine in the trunk, filling it to capacity, but Luisa was carrying nothing but her purse. The look on her face silently dared any of us to comment, but we were too preoccupied with the morning’s agenda to give her the teasing the situation would have demanded under other circumstances.

I was beginning to feel as if I knew every leg of the journey south to Silicon Valley better than I knew the two blocks from my Manhattan apartment to the nearest subway stop, but familiarity didn’t make the miles pass any more quickly. We reached Igobe’s headquarters right on schedule, just before ten, and Abigail slid the car into the same visitor’s spot we’d used the previous day.

Sprinklers were busily irrigating the Igobe logo in front of the entrance, and we took a moment to review our plan before stepping through the sliding-glass doors. Phyllis seemed no more pleased to see us than she had yesterday, and she flinched when she got a good look at me, but at least today I was officially on Iggie’s calendar and had arrived at the appropriate time.

“But why did you bring Biggie and these other people again?” she asked from beneath her Igobe visor. “Where are your colleagues from Winslow, Brown?”

My colleagues from Winslow, Brown were safely going about their business in New York, as I’d made the executive decision to disinvite them shortly before they were due to get on their San Francisco-bound flight last night. There was no reason for anyone to rack up additional travel expenses in pursuit of a deal that was never going to happen. I only hoped the partners would remember more about how I’d saved the firm from involving itself in a business disaster than about how I’d been the one pushing to get involved in the first place. I told Phyllis I’d be representing Winslow, Brown on my own this morning but that my companions would be sitting in on the meeting.