“Manhattan. Hell’s Kitchen. They call it Clinton now. My father worked on printing presses. There were a lot of them on the west side in those days.” Okay, Beck thought that should do it for the polite part. “So, Manny tells me you’ve been having some trouble.”

“Some trouble?” She emphasized the word some. “It’s the worst trouble I’ve ever had in my life. How much did he tell you? I mean, he told me you’d be coming, and…”

“And what?”

“And he said I could trust you.”

Beck nodded.

“Manny never says much, but he did tell me you helped him with his parole. And after he got out. And that you do that for a lot of men coming out of prison.”

“No. Not a lot of men.”

“Well, Manny told me that you’re smart and you can help me. I’m glad you’re here.”

Beck nodded again, but didn’t comment. He noted that Olivia spoke slowly, precisely as if she wanted to make sure she’d banished her Spanish accent. Beck thought he could pick up a trace of it. Maybe it was just a Bronx accent.

“So, what’s going on? It’s better if I hear it directly from you.”

“Right. Manny wasn’t very interested in the details anyhow. I’m sort of worried I brought him into this.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know Manny. He’s pretty black and white.”

Beck thought that was a euphemistic way of putting it. “Yes. He is black or white.” For or against. Dead or alive. “You’re right to be worried about getting Manny involved.” Beck nodded toward her cast. “His first impulse is to kill the man who did that to you.”

Olivia’s brows furrowed. “That’s not at all what I want.”

“Good. But what do you want?”

Olivia looked at Beck for a few moments, maybe trying to decide if he was giving her a hard time or not. Or maybe thinking about her answer.

“Okay,” she said, repeating Beck’s question as if asking herself. “What do I want?” She paused, as if she needed a moment to think it through. “I got hurt and threatened by somebody who’s stronger and more powerful than me. So I reached out to somebody who I think is strong and powerful, too. In his own way. And now I’ve got you involved. And you don’t look like a pushover either. So what do I want? I want help. But now you’ve got me worried about what Manny might do. I mean, that would just make everything worse, right?”

“Yes. It would. What exactly happened to you?”

She paused. Gathering her thoughts. “I work for an investment firm. One of the top traders there, a partner who runs a hedge fund for the firm, heard something about me that he didn’t like.”

“Alan Crane?”

“Yes. Alan Crane. Manny told you his name?”

“Yes.”

“A couple of weeks ago, he walks into my cubicle about seven-thirty. There’s a lot of meetings during the day, and a lot of times I stay to get work done. Anyhow, he starts yelling and screaming at me, and carrying on.”

“About what?”

“About me interfering with his business. Sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Stuff like that.”

“Okay.”

“He was out of control. He just kept at it, getting more and more wound up.”

“Did you say anything to him?”

“No. I never had a chance. I thought he was going to hit me. And then, without warning, he slammed his fist down on my hand.” She grimaced at the memory of it. “It was completely shocking. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. He kept yelling at me. Threatened to kill me.”

“He threatened to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“How exactly did he threaten you?”

Olivia imitated Alan Crane. “You get in my fucking way, you fuck with my business I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll have you wiped off the earth. You won’t even be a shit stain on the ground when I’m done with you. You’ll be gone. Disappeared. Dead.” Screaming them. She returned to her normal voice. “A string of disgusting threats like that.”

Beck frowned.

“A hedge fund guy?”

“Yes.”

“Threatening to kill you.”

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know if he was serious. He was crazy. Out of control.”

“When he smashed his fist down on you, was that intentional? Did he mean to do it? Did he aim, or was he just banging his fist on your desk and your hand was in the way?”

Olivia shook her head slightly, thinking back. “It didn’t seem like an accident.” She looked away, recalling the moment. “I don’t know. I was typing on my computer, facing away from the opening to my cubicle. I turned toward him. One hand on my desk, the other on the arm of my chair. Then the yelling and screaming while he was leaning over me and wham. Maybe he wasn’t aiming. I don’t know. All I know is it hurt so much, I was so shocked—I just couldn’t believe it happened. But it did.”

“You were sitting.”

“Yes.”

“He was standing over you?”

“Yes. But more like leaning over me. His face down in front of mine. Well, yeah, I guess he wasn’t really looking at my hand. He was pounding on my desk, yelling at me, and…”—Olivia made a hammer fist motion with her right hand—“… he slammed his fist down. Does it matter if he was aiming?”

“Everything matters.”

She thought about it, then shook her head. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”

“All right. I understand. So, now—why did he do that? You said it was about you interfering with his business. What the hell could you have done that would make him do that to you—show up out of nowhere, smash your hand, threaten to kill you?”

Olivia leaned toward Beck, as if she had prepared for the question and was ready to give her answer. “Okay, how much do you know about small dealer brokers? About hedge funds?”

“Some. Not much.”

“Well, I’m sure more than Manny knows. Anyhow, Summit is a small company. Started by a man named Frederick Milstein. He opened the place with family money and investments from a few clients about twenty years ago.

“He kept Summit private from day one. Never got acquired, never merged. At his peak he had maybe fifty people working for the company. Financial advisors, traders, support staff. The place ran pretty clean for a long time. Maybe a little trading stuff back and forth inside the firm among the top guys for their better clients, fees and commissions not exactly transparent, but nothing really off the charts.”

Beck wasn’t exactly sure why she was telling him all this, but he nodded and said, “Go on.”

“Anyhow, over these last few years it’s been harder and harder for smaller companies to stay profitable. Regulatory costs are crushing them. Competition is insane. Everything’s tougher. Clients are less patient.”

“Uh huh.”

“So more and more small firms are setting up internal trading groups to try and generate profits. That’s where it gets sticky. They set up hedge funds to get the leeway they need. Black box backroom stuff.” Olivia waggled her hand. “Some are legit quants thinking they have a system to rule the markets. Some of it’s flash trading, but that’s way too expensive for an outfit like Summit to set up. Others, not so legit. I’m licensed as a broker and financial advisor, but I don’t really run money. I don’t trade. I mostly monitor other money managers. And administrate. Part of the risk and compliance group.”

“So you know what’s going on.”

“Yes. Although someone at Crane’s level, he doesn’t really report to anyone but Milstein. We’re supposed to monitor every trade, but if they want to intentionally keep stuff from the risk group, we can’t really stop them. But I’ve been with the company for eight years, and I’m close to Milstein. I know who does what, who earns what. Everybody talks to me. So, I pick up stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like trades that are moving outside the risk parameters.”

“Whose trades? Crane’s?”

“Yes.”

“Anybody else?”

“No. Mostly just the money Crane was running.”

“And Milstein knows about it?”

“Yes. I mean, Milstein makes sure the right firewalls are in place. But he lets Crane run his operation. He knows if something blows up really big, it can take us all down, but he needs the profits Crane generates.”