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Umberto was shaking his head. “I’m so very sorry, your father, he’s dead, Miss Sophia. The FBI is upstairs. They didn’t call you? Forgive me, but I do not have the details.”
She ran to the elevator, ignoring everything else in a mindless chant of No, no, please, no.
The elevator doors slid open, and she slammed down on the button once, twice. She knew it took exactly twenty-two seconds without stops to reach the twenty-third floor—a sign, her father always said, that this was truly their home. Twenty-three was the family’s lucky number. For twenty-two long seconds, she didn’t breathe, stood deathly still, counting.
She raced down the long hallway to the front door. It was unlocked. She burst in, saw a man and a woman, both with guns clipped to their waists, speaking in front of the picture windows. She watched their hands go to their guns as they whirled around to face her.
“What happened to my father?” She knew she screamed the words. She was getting hysterical and took a deep breath and tried again, more calmly this time: “Please, tell me what happened to my father.”
The man spoke first. He was British, not an American. “I’m Special Agent Nicholas Drummond, with the FBI. This is Special Agent Michaela Caine. You’re Mr. Pearce’s daughter, aren’t you?”
She was shaking, couldn’t help it, and grabbed the back of a chair. “Yes, I’m—I’m Sophia Pearce. Where is my father? What’s happened?” The internal No, no, no, no, no beat through her body in time with her heart, but she knew, deep down, she knew.
“I’m very sorry to tell you, but your father was killed on Wall Street this morning.” He’d spoken slowly, quietly. “We’ve been trying to track down his next of kin. I’m sorry. Please, come and sit down.”
She waved her hands, trying to ward off his words. “No, no, there’s got to be a mistake. It doesn’t make sense. My father had no reason to go to Wall Street. He’d have been at the store. How could anything kill him? What happened? Please.” She heard the hysteria rising in her voice again but couldn’t help it.
“Come.” Nicholas took her arm and sat her down on a large burgundy leather couch. He kneeled in front of her. Sophie realized vaguely that he was a big man, young, and she saw pity in his intense, dark eyes and knew this moment would be seared indelibly on her brain forever.
His voice remained low and calm. “We believe he was lured to Wall Street with a fake text message from someone named EP. But EP wasn’t there. Another man was waiting for him. They argued, then he stabbed your father. I’m so sorry.”
She couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Hearing the words made it real, horribly real.
“Can you tell us who EP is?”
Something flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. The room began to spin, the man on his knees in front of her, holding her hand, blurred, and then she didn’t see anything.
13
Nicholas kept his hand on Sophie Pearce’s pulse, still fast, but steady. It was a shock, he knew, it was always a horrible shock to have the death of a loved one come swiftly, violently. She’d closed down.
Mike appeared at his elbow with a glass of water. “When she comes out of it, we’ll give her some water. I doubt it will help, but it’s something.”
He set the glass of water on a side table and rose. “I think she knows who EP is. Try to get her to tell you when she gets herself back together. I need to get the ETA of the crime scene techs. I’ll be right back.”
“Nicholas, be sure to tell them someone else accessed the hard drive before you did. I’m betting Mr. Olympic was here and he did it.”
“I agree, but he didn’t find the SD card and I’ll bet it was the key to access the good stuff on Mr. Pearce’s computer. I’ll try to find the origins of all those files, see what they have to tell us.” He looked again at Sophia Pearce, moaning now, her eyes fluttering open.
He said abruptly, “I need time to sort everything. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Listen up, Nicholas. You don’t have to do everything alone. We’re all in this together, you and me and Zachery and Louisa and Ben, plus I’ve asked Gray Wharton to be attached to the investigation, you know how good he is. You’re now a part of a big team. No more carrying the world’s weight on your shoulders.”
Sophie Pearce opened her eyes. “I heard you talking about my father’s computer. What was on it?”
Mike handed her the water and watched her drink, then set the glass back on the table.
“Please, talk to me. Tell me what you’ve found. None of it makes sense to me.”
Mike said, “I know this is a shock, Miss Pearce. We’ll go slow, one step at a time. Now, when you say the store, you’re talking about his bookstore, Ariston’s?”
“That’s right.” She was getting a little color back, though she was still too pale. Mike helped her sit up, and introduced herself and Nicholas again, waving toward Nicholas, who was speaking on his cell in the entryway. “My father is an antiquarian, one of the best in the field. Ariston’s is renowned for rare books. He has a worldwide network.”
“So he’s very successful.”
“Oh, yes, he has a gift for this, always has. Agent Caine, I don’t understand, who would kill him? He didn’t have any enemies. Everyone loved him.”
Nicholas stepped back into the living room. “We don’t think it was premeditated, Ms. Pearce. You know as well as I do that enemies can be seen and unseen. As your father was a preeminent businessman in an esoteric field, he surely had rivals, people he upset when he bested them. My grandfather’s a bit of a collector; I know how cutthroat the auctions can get.”
