After the Darkness by Sidney Sheldon

Honor asked, “Are Caroline and Maria joining us?”

In a cream J.Crew sundress that washed her out, with her hair scraped back in a ponytail, Honor looked exhausted. Grace wondered if she and Jack had fought last night after Jack stormed out of the dining room, but was too tactful to ask.

“I don’t think so. Caroline’s in town looking at a painting. And Maria’s still asleep, I believe.”

The sisters exchanged glances. “I wonder what she wears to bed?” Connie giggled. “Spun-gold Versace pajamas?”

It was a nice, light moment. Grace finally started to relax.

The waitress came and took their order. They were sitting at an outdoor table, right on the beach, but by the time their appetizers arrived, storm clouds had begun to gather.

The manager appeared. “Would you like to move indoors, Mrs. Brookstein? I have a lovely table by the window I can offer you ladies.” At that instant a loud clap of thunder made everyone jump. Seconds later, the first heavy drops of rain began to splash onto the table.

“Yes, please,” said Grace, laughing. She thought about Lenny, out on the boat. I hope he’s safe and dry in the cabin, not out on deck catching his death of a cold.

IT WAS ALMOST FOUR BY THE time the three sisters arrived home. By that time, the storm was in full force. Michael Gray met them at the front door.

“Thank goodness you’re back,” he said, hugging Connie tightly.

“We only went for lunch at the club, honey.” She laughed. “Why so panicked?”

“I didn’t know where you were, that’s all. I thought you might have gone sailing with Jack. The conditions are awful out there.”

“Jack’s gone sailing?” Honor’s white face turned even whiter. “Are the girls with him?”

“No,” said Michael. “Don’t worry. Bobby and Rose are playing Chutes and Ladders with our boys in the kitchen. They’re a little bored, but other than that, they’re fine.”

“And Jack? Has anyone heard from him?”

“His radio’s down.”

Honor’s knees started shaking. Jack had been an avid sailor since his teens, but a storm like this would test anybody’s skill, even his.

“It’s okay,” said Michael. “The coast guard thinks they’ve located him. We should hear more soon. It’s been crazy out there, you can imagine, but they’re trying to get everybody back to harbor. Come on in out of the rain.”

“What about Lenny?”

Connie and Honor had moved inside, but Grace stood frozen on the front path. Rain dripped from her hair and the tip of her nose. She looked about twelve years old.

Michael Gray frowned. “Lenny? I thought he was at the golf club. That’s what he told the staff here when he left this morning.”

Because he wanted to be alone. He didn’t want you or Jack to invite yourselves along.

“No.” Grace was shaking. “He’s on the boat.”

“Did he take any crew?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

Michael tried to hide his concern. “Do you have any idea where he was going, Grace? What his plans were?”

Grace shook her head.

“All right, sweetheart. Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Come on in and I’ll call the coast guard. Those guys are the best. He’ll be back home in no time, you’ll see.”

JACK WARNER GOT TO THE HOUSE at six P.M., soaked to the skin and badly shaken.

“I’ve never known a storm to close in that fast. Never.” Honor hugged him. Without thinking, Jack hugged her back.

Connie and Michael were upstairs, putting the children to bed. Downstairs in the kitchen, Grace, Honor, Caroline and a still-green-looking Maria Preston sat waiting for news. Lenny’s yacht was still missing.

John Merrivale had gotten back from his business trip in Boston half an hour earlier. Walking over to Grace, he put his arm around her, ignoring Caroline’s dagger stares.

“Try not to w-w-worry. Lenny’s an experienced sailor.”

Grace barely registered that he’d spoken. She was too busy praying.

I lost one father, Lord. Please, don’t let me lose another.

AT 8:17 P.M. EXACTLY, THE PHONE RANG. Grace pounced on it.

“Hello?”

Ten seconds later, she hung up. Her teeth were chattering.

“Grace?” Caroline Merrivale moved toward her. “What is it? What did they say?”

“They’ve found the boat.”

A chorus of “Thank Gods” and “I told you sos” echoed around the room. When they’d all stopped hugging her, Grace said softly, “Lenny wasn’t on it.”

Then she passed out.

SEVEN

LATER, THE PERIOD AFTER LENNY’S DISAPPEARANCE blurred in Grace’s memory into one long, unbroken nightmare. Hours became days, days became weeks, but none of it seemed real. She was living in a trance, a hideous half-life from which only one person could awaken her. And that person was gone.

After three days, Sea Rescue called off its search. Around the globe the headlines screamed:

LEONARD BROOKSTEIN MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD

HEDGE FUND GENIUS LOST AT SEA

NEW YORK’S RICHEST MAN FEARED DROWNED

Grace had never read anything so awful in her life. Had anyone told her at the time that worse was to come, she would not have believed them. How could anything be worse than life without Lenny?

It was John Merrivale who brought her home to New York. Her sisters and the others had all gone back when the search was called off, but Grace couldn’t bring herself to leave Nantucket.

“You can’t stay entombed on this island forever, Gracie. All your friends are in the city. Your f-family. You need a support network.”

“But I can’t leave Lenny, John. It’s like I’m abandoning him.”

“Darling Grace. I know it’s hard. T-t-terribly hard. But Lenny is gone. You have to accept that. No one could survive a day in those w-waters. It’s been two weeks.”

With her rational mind, Grace knew John was right. It was her heart she had trouble convincing. Lenny wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be gone. Until she saw his dead body with her own two eyes, she could not give up hope.

Miracles happen. They happen all the time. Perhaps he was rescued by another fishing boat? Maybe a foreign boat, simple people who don’t know who he is? Maybe he’s lost his memory? Or found his way to an island somewhere?

It was all nonsense, of course. Voices in her head. But in those early days, Grace clung to the voices for dear life. They were all she had left of Lenny and she wasn’t prepared to give them up. Not yet.

When she got back to their Park Avenue apartment, Grace found hundreds of bouquets of flowers waiting for her. She could have piled the condolence cards up to the ceiling.

“See?” said John. “Everybody l-loves you, Grace. Everybody wants to help.”

But the cards and flowers didn’t help. They were unwanted, tangible reminders that as far as the world was concerned, Lenny was dead.

THREE MILES AWAY, IN THE FBI’s New York offices at 26 Federal Plaza, three men sat around a table:

Peter Finch from the SEC was a short, amiable man, completely bald except for a thin tonsure of ginger hair that made him look like a monk. Normally, Finch was known for his good humor. Not today.

“What we’re looking at here is the tip of the iceberg,” he said grimly.

“Pretty big fucking iceberg.” Harry Bain, the FBI’s assistant director in New York, shook his head in disbelief. At forty-two, Bain was one of the bureau’s highest fliers. Handsome, charming and Harvard-educated, with jet-black hair and piercing green eyes, Harry Bain had foiled two of the most significant domestic terror plots ever attempted on U.S. soil. Those had both been pretty huge cases. But if what Peter Finch was saying was true, this one could be even bigger.

“How much money are we talking about? Exactly?” Gavin Williams, another FBI agent who reported to Bain, spoke without looking up. A former SEC man himself, Williams had left the agency in disgust after the Bernie Madoff fiasco. A brilliant mathematician with higher degrees in modeling, statistics, data programming and analysis, as a young man he had dreamed of becoming an investment banker himself, joining the J. P. Morgan training program straight out of Wharton. But Gavin Williams had never quite made it. He lacked the killer commercial instincts necessary to take him to the top, as well as the political, people skills that had helped his far-less-intellectually-gifted classmates amass private fortunes in the tens of millions. Tall and wiry with close-cropped gray hair and a military bearing, Williams was a loner, as dour and emotionless as a statue. Brilliant, he might be. But in the clubby world of Wall Street, nobody wanted to do business with him.

Deeply embittered by this rejection, Gavin Williams made the decision to devote the rest of his life to the pursuit of those who had made it to the top, cataloging their misdemeanors with crazed zeal. In the early days, working at the SEC had given him a tremendous sense of purpose. But all that changed after Madoff. The agency’s failings in that case were catastrophic. Gavin himself hadn’t worked on the case, but he felt tainted by collective embarrassment. Blinded by a simple Ponzi scheme! The thought of it still gave Gavin Williams sleepless nights, even now in his new dream job as the FBI’s top man on securities fraud.

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