“Because if that’s your definition of flawless business acumen,” I continued, “I imagine federal investigators would be thrilled to hear it. Especially if we include the forged signatures, the ghost projects, and the debt covenants you’ve been violating while serving imported champagne.”
The silence was so complete I could hear the faint hum of the sound system. Then came the first whispers. Men leaned toward one another. Phones appeared under the tablecloths. Randolph’s color fled. Prescott’s expression shifted from annoyance to disbelief to naked panic. And somewhere in that widening shock, Randolph recognized the numbers. He knew those exact numbers. He knew the invisible analyst he had relied on for years was standing in front of him wearing his son’s wedding ring.
“What are you doing?” he barked finally, his voice cracking. “Sit down immediately.”
I laughed softly. “I’m correcting the record.”