“Should I be worried?” Nick asked facetiously.

“Well, he’s worth over $4 billion. And for a gentleman of ninety, he couldn’t be more handsome. He doesn’t get around too well, hasn’t left his New England summer home in over a month. Everyone thinks he’s this man of mystery, an anonymous donor to countless charities. When large donations are made and no one can track down the originator, many think it has to be Shamus trying to give away his fortune.”

“Well, is it him?”

“Now it wouldn’t be anonymous if I knew, would it?” Julia smiled.

“Does he know he’s been robbed?”

“It was my first call after I saw what was stolen. I spoke to his assistant, who said she’d tell him, but they were crazy dealing with other matters.”

Nick became lost in thought for a moment before getting angry. “You went inside this place? How did you know the thieves weren’t still in there?”

“Well…” her face couldn’t hide her answer.

“This isn’t part of an attorney’s job, you never told me this.”

“He pays us a retainer of twenty five thousand a month in addition to what we bill them. I never thought this would happen. Besides, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but…” he didn’t finish the statement, not knowing what to say.

“Look, I’m fine. And besides, you’ve seen that crazy eight-faced key in my purse and I know you’ve seen the security card. I told you what it was for.”

“You said a client’s home. You never mentioned you were playing security guard.”

“Client confidentiality,” Julia said.

Nick brushed off her response. “If the key and the card are the means of access to a place of such wealth, why do you carry them around so nonchalantly?”

“The key is special. It’s marked with eight letters, each corresponding to a specific date. Today happens to be a D-day. If you don’t know the algorithm to get the date you’ve got a one in eight chance of its working, that coupled with the magna-card being passed before the reader three times plus you need to input your Social Security number… the key alone is pretty worthless.”

“Julia, you said it was an extra key to someone’s home. Not a place filled with weapons.”

“Not this kind of weapons. You wouldn’t use these to kill someone.”

Nick didn’t dare contradict her. “With all the great security, how’d they get in?”

“Not sure, but they knew what they were doing, they had definite inside knowledge, they knew the security system, destroyed the server, the whole magilla, but they forgot about one thing-we hired a separate firm to set up a remote backup.”

“What?”

“Never put all your eggs in one basket for security or you’re beholden to the integrity of one protector. Two separate firms for two separate aspects. The security server in Hennicot’s building has a remote live backup to the computer in my office. Any time there’s a security breach it sends the files to my computer for this exact reason.”

“So everything, images of whoever broke in, is on the computer in your office?”

“Yeah, and here.” Julia held up her Palm Pilot PDA. The hand-held personal data assistant she carried in her purse stored far more than her contacts, calendar, and email, its large memory capacity far surpassing that of her BlackBerry and smart phone.

“What?”

“When a blackout hits, we have backup batteries that allow our computers to save and shut down so you don’t lose the data you’re working on. When the plane crashed, knocking out the lights, it initiated a backup and shutdown.”

“And…?”

“As a precaution, sensitive files are emailed to my PDA, so I’m not impeded in critical work. All of the security files for two hours prior to shutdown are on this.”

“Can I see?”

“Why would you want to see?” Julia said, confused. “The police will handle it after they deal with the plane crash.”

“I just want to take a look.”

“Even if we wanted to, I need a computer, and we have no power unless your notebook still has battery.”

Nick shook his head.

“The file is unviewable on the Palm. It’s a host of video and secure data files.”

“I can’t believe you put yourself at such risk.” Nick couldn’t hide his anger.

“When you think about it,” Julia said, “that robbery saved my life.”

Nick knew she was right, but it was only a temporary save; It actually cost her her life. He couldn’t help thinking that no matter what he did, fate was going to take her away.

Nick pulled on a light-blue, button-up shirt. He reached out and took Julia’s hand. “Listen to what I have to say, hear me out without interruption.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Julia said.

“I don’t mean to.”

“Then reduce the drama factor,” she said with a serious smile.

Nick took a breath. “There are no cops around, everyone is at the crash site.”

“Yeah-” Julia shut her mouth as Nick held up his hand.

“Whoever pulled that robbery is trying to erase their tracks.” Nick paused.

Julia looked into Nick’s concerned eyes before turning her attention to the Palm Pilot in her hand, her thoughts churning, until realization washed over her face.

PLUMES OF WHITE smoke billowed up from the crash site two miles away; an all-day battle with no victors, no winners, but countless victims. And while the fight to contain the fire had neared its end, the mental battle would go on for days, weeks, years. Though the scar in the ground would heal, nature filling in the scorched earth with a green blanket of growth in mere weeks, the town would never be the same again.

As Nick drove his Audi A8 toward the village of Byram Hills, he glanced at Valhalla, their favorite restaurant, thinking how much the area had changed.

Byram Hills had once been a town right out of Mayberry: dirt roads and a single street light, a police station with three jail cells, a fruit and vegetable stand that sold fresh doughnuts and cider on the weekends. Houses were modest despite incomes, no one judged his neighbor on square footage. Children of firemen and janitors hung out with the children of CEOs and real estate tycoons, playing and fighting as kids do without the word lawsuit ever being uttered. High school coaches remained in place for the season, while parents had no illusion that their child was the next Michael Jordan. Marriages lasted longer, couples working together to make their commitments endure despite the hardships they faced. But over time, as with much of America, some of the town’s character was sold off for higher returns, people became caught up in appearances, in perceptions, in keeping up with the Joneses.

Sadly, tragedy is the great equalizer, Nick thought. It knows no ZIP code, has no country club membership or two-room cold-water flat. It strikes without prejudice, reminding us of the fragility of life, of what truly is important when all things are stripped away. For sorrow and loss, pain and suffering are innate in our hearts, and while they may lie dormant they are quickly remembered when death fills the air.

And with an event of the magnitude of a plane crash, when 212 people are collectively ripped from this world, from your own backyard, life is reset, priorities falling back into their proper order.

Within moments of the crash, stores and businesses closed, summer camps were shuttered. Families came together. Churches and synagogues opened their doors for prayer. Volunteers arrived by the busful in the open fields less than a mile outside town where friends and strangers had departed this earth.

Julia rode in the seat beside Nick, her eyes fixed on the smoke on the horizon, unable to shake the thought of death and how it had passed her by today.

“You sure we can get a computer in your office to work?” Nick asked.

“Why do you need to see the security files? Let’s just turn my PDA over to the police. This is none of our-and particularly none of your-business, Nick.”