THE MERIDIAN GROUP

Sebastian Locke occupied the penthouse of a building that didn't appear on any map, a featureless tower in Manhattan's financial district whose entrance was concealed behind an unmarked door between a deli and a dry cleaner. Adrian and Chen arrived together, having decided that separation was more dangerous than joint exposure.

The interior contradicted the exterior's anonymity. Locke's residence was a museum of modern art, filled with works that Adrian estimated were worth more than most people's lifetime earnings. A Pollock dominated one wall. A Koons sculpture gleamed in the corner. The furniture was minimalist, expensive, and probably uncomfortable.

Locke himself was in his sixties, silver-haired, with the weathered handsomeness of someone who'd spent decades making difficult decisions. He wore a cashmere sweater and no watch, a deliberate signal that his time was too valuable to be measured.

"Dr. Vale. Detective Chen. Thank you for coming."

"You didn't give us much choice," Chen said. "Not after revealing how much you know."

"I find that transparency builds trust more effectively than deception. Though I acknowledge the irony, given my profession." Locke gestured toward a seating area. "Please. Can I offer you anything? Wine? Water? Something stronger?"

"Answers," Adrian said. "Starting with how you know what you know."

Locke settled into a chair that probably cost more than Adrian's car. "I've spent forty years in finance, Dr. Vale. In that time, I've developed extensive networks of information. When Victor Kravitz died under unusual circumstances, I investigated. When I discovered similarities to other deaths, I investigated further. It took six months to identify you as the common thread."