Wednesday, 5:30 PM. The Georgetown Townhouse.
I was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair in the study, a fresh glass of bourbon in my hand, when the heavy oak doors clicked open.
Evelyn Cross stepped into the room.
The Director of Enforcement for the Securities and Exchange Commission looked entirely out of place in the opulent, old-world study. She was wearing her signature severe black pantsuit and a charcoal trench coat, her dark hair cut in that precise, no-nonsense bob. To the rest of the world, she was the terrifying, incorruptible face of federal law.
But I knew the truth. I knew what was hiding beneath the armor.
She closed the door behind her, the lock clicking shut. She didn't walk toward me. She stood near the door, her posture rigid, her dark eyes fixed on the floor. The absolute, crushing confidence she had displayed when she first raided Vanguard was completely gone, replaced by a tense, vibrating anxiety.
