I watch the priest walk toward his own waiting Town Car, his robes full of the breeze. When he turns back to look at us, I nod to him and smile. He continues his walk. On the gravel drive, I see Martin Debray’s face in the dark opening of the limousine. Rangle is still crying, although all his tears seem to have been spent.

“I have some more news for you,” I say in a tone that makes Rangle straighten and wipe his eyes.

“He was a royal,” he says, blubbering.

“Sometimes they’re worse,” I say. “I tried to call you this morning.”

“I was…” Rangle looks back at the grave and pulls his arm away from my grip. “You’re hurting me.”

“The Russian government announced that it’s investigating the Bank of Moscow for fraud.”

“What?” Rangle’s eyes widen and his mouth opens so that I can see his tongue. “When?”

“Midday,” I say, soaking up the expression on his face. “Moscow time.”

“After we bought?”

“After you bought,” I say. “Technically, we’re not even having this conversation. I’m just a client, remember? My lawyer advised me against talking to you. With your client list, and the amount of money lost, he expects an FBI probe. But I wanted to tell you in person…”

I can’t help a small smile. The sound that comes from him is exquisite, a strangled cry of rage and horror. His lip curls up under the thin mustache. He clenches his hands and his weak trembling turns into a violent shake.

“It could be worse,” I say. “Believe me when I say that.”

“You-” he says in a screech, raising his fist. “You’re sick.”

My heart is racing. I would love to smash his face and snap his neck with my bare hands, but that would be too easy. This is the man who destroyed my life, not for love or even money, but out of greed for power and adulation. He ruined Raymond White for a seat in the U.S. Congress, and for that, his suffering will be a long-drawn-out affair. So instead of hitting him, I turn and walk away, savoring what waits for him now.

RANGLE MADE A FEW discreet calls with his hand over his mouth and the phone and found out that everything Seth told him was true. He slumped in the corner of the limousine and said nothing else the entire way back to his apartment. When the car stopped, he didn’t bother with his wife and Debray, but he told the driver to wait for him. He slipped out of the car, hurried through the lobby, and into the elevator.

Bursting into his apartment, he dismissed the maid and headed directly into his bedroom. There he went right to his wife’s jewelry safe.

He filled one of her small handbags with everything valuable, then went into his own walk-in closet and took down a large Louis Vuitton suitcase from a shelf. He threw in the handbag and three of his best suits along with a tuxedo and two pair of shoes, then as much summer-wear as he could fit.

He heard Katie come in, mix a drink, and then ease herself down on the bed with a heavy sigh that ended in a long self-pitying groan. Rangle reached up under his sock drawer and sprung the latch on the wooden panel behind his suits. He pushed the clothes aside and spun the tumbler on his own safe. Inside was a black velvet bag that crunched softly when he lifted it. He opened the top, scooping up a handful of diamonds.

Twenty million dollars’ worth of investment-grade stones. Better than a Swiss bank account. Better than cash. He slipped the bag into a leather briefcase and slung the shoulder strap across his body. In his bathroom, next to the toilet, was a phone. He dialed information and got the number for the charter at Teterboro. Yes, there was a G-V available on short notice. He asked them to put together a flight plan for Grand Cayman and hung up.

With the suitcase in hand, he walked back out into the bedroom and stopped at the foot of the bed. Katie was propped up on a mountain of pillows with her arm up over her face. He set the suitcase down.

“I’m leaving, Katie,” he said, straightening his back and his hair at the same time, “and I’d like you to come with me.”

His wife’s body started to shake. First just slightly, then almost convulsively, she sucked in some air and let it out in small spurts. At first he thought she was hysterically crying, but when the sound started to come it was pitched with laughter.

She actually shrieked, then said, “Oh, Bob, what do you mean, leaving? You’re in mourning, remember?”

“You’re sick,” he said, spitting the word.

Her arm came down off her face and he saw the glitter in her eyes.

“I am sick,” she said. “Sick of you.”

“Katie, I don’t care about everything. I’ll take you with me,” Rangle said. “If you stay here, there’s not going to be anything. The money’s gone. All of it.”

“But you’re wrong, Bob,” she said, still grinning. “Martin and I have plenty of money.”

“What do you mean, Martin and you?” he said, choking.

“Doesn’t your French notion of marriage include business?”

“You have money together?”

“Of course,” she said, her lips tight. “Lots. He’s very good.”

Rangle felt his face twisting. He turned quickly and picked up the suitcase, stopping only to slam the bedroom door on her laughter.

When the limo stopped in front of the terminal at Teterboro, Rangle got out without a word to his driver. Inside, the girl behind the counter said that everything was ready and he snapped that it damned well better be. The driver delivered his suitcase and a handler scooped it up and said he’d put it into the jet. Rangle dismissed his driver and gave the girl his Platinum Card, enjoying the fact that since no one would be left to pay it, this ride was going to be for free.

The G-V was waiting just outside the hangar, its long white body shining in the sun, its massive engines looking almost too big for the rest of the plane. On board, he nodded to the pilots, who were checking their controls, and stepped through the galley into the main cabin.

One of the pilots came back and offered him a drink. Rangle settled into the leather recliner, fastened up his seat belt, and said, “Scotch and soda with ice. A double.”

The pilot nodded, and as he fixed the drink in the galley, he said, “I kept the shades down until we take off and get the air-conditioning going, Mr. Rangle, to keep you as cool as we can.”

Rangle took the drink from him and sipped the cool golden liquor, letting it dull his nerves.

“Can I take that briefcase for you?” the pilot asked.

“No,” Rangle said, clutching it to his chest. “I have some things in here that I need.”

“Okay, we’ll be taking off right away.”

Rangle nodded and looked at the shaded window. He lifted the shade a little and beyond the upward-bent wing saw a fuel truck drive away. He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and felt the plane shake, then the sound of the stairs being retracted and the cabin door being secured.

Rangle loosened his tie and reclined the seat a little more. The engines screamed to life, and he angled the vent so that the cool air hit his face. The thought of Dani came on him suddenly and his chest convulsed. He swallowed some of his drink and held the briefcase tight as the plane swung around and headed up the runway.

He shut his eyes. After a brief pause, the plane accelerated, pushing him deep into the seat’s cushions. When they began to level off, he took another swig and pulled the shade all the way up. Sunlight streamed in. Below was the Hudson River littered with boats and the small white tails of their wakes.

Rangle sat up straight. He leaned across the cabin and opened the other shades. Mountains. He looked up the aisle. The cockpit door was closed. He sat back down and folded his arms across the briefcase, his mind spinning. He didn’t want to seem ridiculous. He looked out the window again. More river and more green hills. They were definitely going north.