WIN by Coben, Harlan (best book reader txt) 📕

what you’re doing, Sadie. I believe in it. You should continue without reservation.”

“And you continue to do what you do?”

I shrug. “You work on the macro level,” I say. “What you do is important.”

“And, what, your hope is that my work will one day make your work obsolete?”

I smile with no humor behind it. “My work will never be obsolete.”

She thinks about it. “You can’t spy on me.”

“You’re right.”

“And whatever you do, it can’t involve me or my clients.”

“You’re right.”

She shakes her head. The truth is, I may indeed have messed up here. I don’t care about Teddy Lyons, of course. He crossed the line and earned any and all repercussions. I don’t look at it as vigilantism. I look at it as preventive offense. Think schoolyard rules. The bully hits someone. Even if the teacher is told, even if the teacher punishes the bully, the bully should expect someone to hit back.

I’d known that there was the potential for unexpected consequences, even disastrous ones, but I had added up the pros and cons and chosen to act. Perhaps I was wrong. I’m not infallible.

You need to break a few eggs to make an omelet. I don’t know if that’s true, but if you break the eggs, better to make an omelet than a mess.

Enough with the analogies.

“I almost called the police after the brothers threatened me,” she says.

“Why didn’t you?”

“And say what? You assaulted their brother.”

“They could never prove it. But if I may make an observation?”

She frowns and gestures for me to go ahead.

“You didn’t call the police,” I say, “because you realized that the law couldn’t protect you.”

“And damn you for putting me in that position.” Sadie squeezes her eyes shut. “Do you see what you’ve done? I went to law school. I swore an oath. I know that our legal system isn’t perfect, but I believe in it. I follow it. And now you’ve forced me to abandon my integrity and principles.”

She takes a deep breath.

“I’m not sure I can stay in this office, Win.”

I say nothing.

“I may want out of our agreement.”

“Think it over for a bit,” I say. “You’re right. Your anger—”

“It’s not just anger, Win.”

“Whatever you want to call what you’re feeling. Anger, disappointment, disillusionment, compromise. It’s justified. I did what I thought was best, but perhaps I was wrong. I am still learning. It’s on me. I apologize.”

She seems surprised by my apology. So do I.

“So what do we do now?” she asks.

“You’ve had a chance to chat with the brothers,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Do you think they are just going to leave us alone?”

Sadie’s voice is soft. “No.”

“So the eggs are broken,” I say. “The question now is, Do we want to make an omelet or a mess?”

CHAPTER 19

I like to walk.

Most days, I walk to and from work. The route from my office to my apartment—from the Lock-Horne Building to the Dakota—is approximately two miles and takes slightly more than half an hour at a brisk pace. My routine is to head north on Fifth Avenue until I hit Central Park in front of the Plaza Hotel on Fifty-Ninth Street. I stay to the left of the Central Park Zoo, diagonally traipsing north and west until I hit Strawberry Fields and then my home in the Dakota. During my morning walk, I often stop for coffee at Le Pain Quotidien, which is located in the middle of the park. The dogs run free in this area, and I enjoy watching that. I don’t know why. I’ve never owned a dog. Perhaps I should remedy that.

It’s dark now, the park so hushed I can hear the echo of my footsteps on the pavement. Times may be better, but most people still don’t stroll through Central Park at night. I recall my rather violent youth when I would “night tour” the most dangerous areas of the city. As I mentioned earlier, I no longer trawl for trouble in the so-called mean streets, craving to right some vague wrong whilst satisfying certain of my own cravings. I’m more careful with where I wreak havoc now—albeit, as I now see with Teddy “Big T” Lyons, my targeting skills are far from perfect.

I confess I’m not good about considering long-term repercussions.

I cross the Imagine mosaic, and up ahead I can start making out the gables of the Dakota. I am thinking about too many things at once—the Jane Street Six, the Vermeer, the Hut of Horrors, Patricia, Jessica—when my phone buzzes.

It’s PT again.

I answer with “Articulate.”

“I got what I could on Strauss’s shell company. First off, it’s called Armitage LLC.”

Good name, I think. Tells you nothing. That’s Rule Number One in setting up an anonymous shell—have a name that has nothing to do with you.

“What else?”

“It was filed in Delaware.”

Again no surprise. If you want anonymity, there are three states you use—Nevada, Wyoming, or Delaware. Since Philadelphia is very close to Delaware, the Lockwoods have always gone that route.

“It’s also not a single shell,” PT says.

Yet again no surprise.

“Seems to be part of a network. You probably understand this better than I do, but LLC X owns LLC Y which owns LLC Z which owns Armitage LLC. So it’s very difficult to trace back. The checks come out of someplace called Community Star Bank.”

When I hear the name of the bank, I slow my pace. My grip on the phone tightens.

“Who set up the Armitage LLC?”

“It has no name. You know that.”

“I mean, what attorney?”

“Hold on.” I can hear him shuffle papers. “No specific lawyer, just a firm. Duncan and Associates.”

I freeze.

“Win?”

Duncan and Associates, I know, is just one man.

Nigel Duncan. Butler, trusted friend, bar-admitted attorney with but one client.

In short, the shell company paying Ry Strauss’s bill was set up by one of my family members.

I am about to ask PT exactly when the shell company was formed when something hard, like a tire iron, crashes into the side of my skull.

The rest happens in two or maybe three seconds.

I stagger, woozy from the blow,