“Ben!” Nathan yelled from downstairs.

“I’m up here,” Ben called.

Nathan dashed up the stairs two at a time and charged into Ben’s room. “What happened?”

Ben sat on the bed, his head in his hands. “I totally blew it,” he said.

“What? Tell me.”

Ben raced through the story. “And I think this guy Rick might’ve leaked the info to Maxwell.”

Nathan stared out the window. “You don’t know that,” he said. Speaking calmly and slowly, he explained, “There’s no reason to believe the worst.”

Looking up at his friend, Ben recognized Nathan’s consoling-but-lying voice. “Nathan, I know Rick did it. No one risks millions on a guess like that. He even sent me flowers to say thank you. He set me up and I fell for it completely. It was easy for him. All he had to do was some quick research and make a call to the Court once the new clerks started. The justices aren’t there; we’re wet behind the ears. It’s simple.”

“I don’t understand.” Nathan leaned on the windowsill. “You never asked Hollis about Rick?”

“No way,” Ben said. “I didn’t want Hollis knowing I was getting advice from the outside. Lisa and I have to look as smooth as possible.” Ben’s gaze dropped to the floor. “FUCK!” he yelled, pounding the bed. “That was so damn stupid of me!”

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Nathan said, trying his best to comfort his friend. “Maybe we can try to find Rick. Do you have his phone number?”

“I already checked it. Disconnected. But I do have his address.”

“You really don’t have to come,” Ben said as he opened the door to Nathan’s old maroon Volvo.

“You make me take off work, and then you want to dump me while you go check out this guy’s house?” Nathan asked. “Forget about it.”

“It’s not that I’m trying to leave you out of anything-”

“I know,” Nathan said. “And I’m not here because I’m afraid of being left out. I’m here because I want to help you.”

“I appreciate it,” Ben said as Nathan pulled out of the driveway. “I just didn’t want to get you involved with my problems.”

Nathan drove up Seventeenth Street, and pulled into a parking spot a few blocks from the address. “Let’s walk up.”

Ben looked up at the dark clouds. “Do you have an umbrella? It’s about to pour.”

“There should be one under your seat,” Nathan said.

Located near the city’s business district, 1780 Rhode Island was a building displaced in time. Designed in the late 1970s, it was bilious green, eight stories tall, and had tinted, full-story glass windows. A sore thumb on any architectural hand. After pushing open the heavy glass doors, Ben and Nathan walked into the lobby and approached the doorman, who was sitting at a slightly rusted metal desk in the otherwise renovated surroundings.

“Can I help you?” the doorman asked.

“I’m here to see my brother, Rick Fagen,” Ben said. “He’s in apartment three seventeen.”

The doorman stared at the two friends for a few seconds. Eventually he said, “Follow me.” Ben and Nathan glanced at each other, hesitating for a moment. But when Nathan nodded approval to Ben, they fell into step behind the doorman. Leading them up a small set of steps and past the building’s only elevator, the doorman turned down a long hallway that ran along the right side of the building. He stopped at a room marked PRIVATE and opened the door, leading them inside. “Take a seat,” the doorman said, pointing to two worn leather sofas in the waiting area. Nathan and Ben obliged, and the doorman walked through another door, which looked like it led to an office.

“You think this’ll work?” Nathan asked.

“Can’t hurt to try,” said Ben.

Nathan looked around the empty waiting area, paneled in fake knotty pine. “This place has Mafia written all over it,” Nathan whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

“It does,” Nathan said. “It smells musty like my cousin Lou’s house. We should get out of here.”

“You can go,” Ben whispered. “I’m staying.”

“This was a bad idea,” Nathan said. “For all we know, Rick could be in that room.”

Before Ben could respond, the doorman and a small man with a mustache stepped out of the office. “I’m the manager. Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Rick Fagen’s brother,” Ben said, extending a hand to the manager. “He told us to meet him here.”

The manager ignored Ben’s extended hand, and examined Ben and Nathan. Putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks, he smirked. “If you’re his brother, how come you didn’t know he moved out of here two weeks ago? Listen, people like their privacy here. If you think you’re going to fool us, you’ll have to make up a better line of bullshit than saying you’re his brother. Now, unless you’re cops, get the fuck out of here.”

The doorman opened the door, and roughly escorted Ben and Nathan outside. “I think that was pretty successful,” Nathan said as the glass door closed behind them. Standing under the building’s awning, Ben stared out into a furious downpour. Opening his umbrella, Nathan said, “Well, at least we won’t get-”

“I’m a dead man,” Ben said as he rushed into the rain, toward the car.

Throughout the drive back, Ben was silent. “C’mon, snap out of it,” Nathan said when they returned home.

“I just need to think,” Ben said, heading straight for the kitchen.

“You’ve been thinking for the past fifteen minutes. Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” Ben raised his voice. “I just got screwed, and I jeopardized my entire career. Boy, what a wonderful day!”

“Listen, don’t take this out on me,” Nathan said. From the refrigerator, he poured himself a glass of iced tea. “I’m here for you, and I’ll do my best to help you, but don’t make me your whipping boy.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said as he sat at the small kitchen table. “It’s just-I just-this’s a disaster.”

Nathan handed the iced tea to Ben. “That’s okay. But let’s at least do something. Focus your energy. How about we plan Rick’s death?”

“I’ve been doing that for the past three hours,” Ben said, clutching the glass. “So far, the best I can come up with is slicing off his eyelids and sitting him in front of a mirror. He’ll go insane watching himself since he won’t be able to shut his eyes.”

“That’s one way to deal with him.”

“I’m not screwing around,” Ben said. He took a gulp of tea. “I have to find this guy. If word gets out that I leaked a decision, my life is over. And without Rick, I can’t prove my innocence. At least with him, I can try to prove his link with Maxwell. Otherwise, I don’t know what else to do. Can’t we put a search on him through the State Department?”

“Not without saying why we’re looking for him. And if you do, you can say good-bye to your job.”

“And my entire career.”

“But we can do a confidential search,” Nathan blurted, his voice racing with newfound confidence. “All we need is a member of Congress to-” Hopping off the counter and grabbing the phone, Nathan dialed Ober’s number. “Hello, Ober? It’s me. We need some serious help. Are you still answering constituents’ letters?”

“Absolutely,” Ober said. “I’m the master of junk mail.”

“Then you still have access to the pen-signing machine that fakes the senator’s signature?”

“Of course,” Ober said. “Did you really think Senator Stevens signed your birthday card?”

“I need a favor,” Nathan said. “I need you to write an official request on Senate letterhead. Address it to my attention at the State Department and ask that a confidential background check be done on-what’s his name, Ben?”

“Richard or Rick Fagen,” Ben said with a wry smile. “Here’s his old phone number and address.”

After relaying the information, Nathan told Ober, “Make sure that the letter says that all correspondence should go to me.”

“What’s this for?” Ober asked suspiciously.