The darkness wrapped around me like expensive silk, heavy and suffocating. Miami's skyline bled from black to bruised purple, but I hadn't slept. Couldn't. Not with seven billion dollars of stolen money sitting in accounts that shouldn't exist and plans spreading across three time zones like spilled wine.
"I am spontaneous," I said to no one, testing the word like foreign currency.
Monday had crawled into Tuesday while I sat here doing math that would make economists weep. Seven billion liberated. Meridian Club membership purchased. CIA deals that went sideways into better territory. Five companies about to fall into my lap like ripe fruit.
The irony burned — three weeks ago, Jack Morrison's fists used to introduce my face to cafeteria tile. Now I was puppet-mastering the destruction of men who bought senators like trading cards.
