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“That’s pretty far-fetched.”
“The farthest. Tell me, do you know what the largest private gold vault in the world is?”
“Blane-Grunwald in Manhattan?”
“Excellent. It’s rumored to have five hundred billion dollars’ worth. That’s half a trillion dollars in bullion. Including my paltry amount.”
“That’s a lot of…you know.”
“I know. And do you know where the Blane-Grunwald bank in New York is located?”
“Sure. One Chase Manhattan Boulevard.”
“Right across the street from the Federal Reserve,” Emerson said.
“And?”
“The diabolical possibilities are endless.”
“Here’s the thing,” Riley said. “I’m not really into diabolical possibilities. I’m more into logical explanations.”
“Maxine’s body was found on Liberty Street. Just a block from the Federal Reserve. The logical explanation is that Günter and Maxine uncovered something big in New York. And it involves the world’s gold supply.”
Riley’s heart skipped a beat. “Involves?”
“Someone is stealing the world’s gold supply and substituting it with counterfeits.”
“Someone?”
Emerson shrugged. “Mystery creates wonder, and wonder is the basis of man’s desire to understand.”
“Buddha?” Riley asked.
“Why would Buddha steal the world’s gold supply? He believed that material possessions were the root of unhappiness.”
Riley did an exasperated eye roll. “I meant, who said ‘Mystery creates wonder’?”
“Oh, that was Neil Armstrong. He didn’t steal the world’s gold supply either.” He leaned into her and whispered, “He’s dead, you know.”
“I don’t want to hear any of this. You’re a good client and probably a nice guy, but it has to end here. I’m going to take you home, and I’m not coming back.”
“Of course you’re coming back. You’re on loan to me, and I need you to drive me to New York. How else will I get there?”
“The train.”
“The train doesn’t fit into my plan.”
“Then have someone else drive you to New York. Your aunt or your cousin.”
“I’d prefer not to involve them in this.”
“And me?”
“You’re already involved. And you’re an excellent driver.”
The hickories and oaks that spanned Rock Creek Park formed an arch framing the many gables of Mysterioso Manor. When Riley pulled up the next morning the sun had just risen and the world looked dewy and fresh. She’d spent the night telling herself she absolutely was not going to drive Emerson to New York. She’d dressed for the office in black heels, a simple white silk T-shirt, and a black suit with a short fitted jacket. She’d pointed her Mini toward Blane-Grunwald. And somehow she’d ended up here.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she said out loud in the privacy of her car, referencing herself, and Emerson, and the world in general.
