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Paul’s heart juddered. “Were you in touch with him?” he asked Addison. “Or can’t you say?”

Trombley looked at Addison, who said, “We were not in touch with him.”

That could mean only one thing: Chad was killed because they, Galkin’s people, thought he was spying on the firm. In trying to disguise himself as a generic investment guy for the CCTV, had he accidentally implicated Chad? Paul’s chest felt hollow and his stomach roiled with acid.

“The situation has escalated,” Addison said. “We’ll talk across the street.”

“Across the street?”

“You asked why I haven’t taken you to our office. Well, our unit is based across the street, and you’re going to be meeting with someone quite high up.”

They crossed East Houston Street to a narrow white-brick building that had a tourist shop on the street level. The window was filled with I ? NEW YORK T-shirts and Yankees mugs and snow globes. Next to it was an unmarked door. They pressed through that door and entered a small, dusty lobby with a sign on the wall listing the building’s tenants. Without speaking, they took the elevator to the fourth floor. Right where they got off the elevator was a door with a large inset glass panel on which was stenciled, in gold leaf lettering, KNIGHT & HAWLEY ACTUARIAL CONSULTING .

Through the glass, Paul saw a bland, plain-looking office, metal desks and metal chairs, some cubicles. Glaring fluorescent lighting. It could have been a small insurance firm stuck in the nineteen seventies. Maybe four or five employees. Agent Addison stood at the door, and it buzzed open. He put out his hand, and Paul obligingly handed over his phone. An ordinary-looking office that took extraordinary precautions. There were to be no covert recordings.

Looking around the office, Paul said, “What is this place?”

“The offsite unit for certain financial crimes investigations.”

“Undercover?”

“Basically.”

They were standing in a conference room off the main area, a sparsely furnished room whose walls were glass down to about waist level, an old-fashioned design. As soon as they’d entered, Paul noticed the outside noise diminish to nothing. The glass walls were clearly soundproof. Maybe bulletproof, too.

“Why did you warn me not to go into work?”

“Because our intel suggests you’re about to be taken in by Galkin’s security and questioned and then . . . well, who knows?”

“Yeah, I have a pretty good idea what happens to me next. So I need to disappear.” Paul said. He then told the two FBI agents about how Tatyana’s apartment had obviously been searched and how whoever’d searched it had found the thumb drive and erased it and then left the blank drive there for him to find.

“Disappear? You’re talking about WITSEC?” Trombley said.

Paul knew that was what the FBI called the Witness Protection Program. He nodded.

“You want to go into witness protection. I understand. But it’s a big decision. You’ll have to leave your life behind, your name, your family. Are you really ready for that? And what about your wife? Are you prepared to leave her behind, too?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided. I don’t think she’d go with me, to be honest.” Her words— Pasha, you know me by now. I am a Galkin —echoed in his head.

“Here’s the thing,” Addison said. “There’s a whole process to determine if you get admitted into Witness Protection. You’ve got to be vetted by my higher-ups, including the woman you’re about to meet. Also, the U.S. Attorney General’s Office, the U.S. Marshals Service, the Office of Enforcement Operations. It’s a long, arduous process.”

“Okay, you can get me through—”

“But it’s only for witnesses whose testimony is crucial for the successful prosecution of a case. And we’re not at that stage yet. I don’t even know if we have a case.”

“Does that mean I have to testify against Galkin?”

“It does. Without testimony, no witness protection, simple as that.”

Paul felt a jolt of fear shoot through him. He imagined himself in a courtroom facing down Galkin, with Tatyana in the gallery, and it felt horrible. “If you don’t get me in, I’m screwed. I’m dead meat. I’ll have to do it myself. My own Witness Protection Program.”

I’ll need to disappear myself , he thought.

At that point, there was a knock on the door. Outside, visible through the glass, loomed a stout, squarish woman with blonde hair cut in a Diana, Princess of Wales, style. She was dressed in a navy suit with big shoulders. She was making a summoning sign with her index finger, palm up. A sign that meant she wanted someone to come out.

Special Agent Addison opened the door for her. She entered, and Addison and Trombley both immediately left the room. It was evident that this woman was their superior.

“I’m Geraldine Dempsey,” the woman said, clasping Paul’s hand. Her eyes twinkled. “It’s so nice to know you.” Her voice was surprisingly deep and pleasant. Then her eyebrows tented in a look of great concern. “You must be scared half to death.”