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what we’re looking for. Mrs. Tollero, I’ll need the staff lists for the 34 th Street Able’s store. Starting with the management team,” he called through the doorway.  
    It struck him like a wet fish in the face. “How long has this anomaly been showing up?”
    Malcolm looked up wringing his hands. “Three years.”
    Nicolas eyeballed him. “Unbelievable. She’s probably been plotting this forever. Finishing off what she started with her father.”
          “I’m sorry sir?”
          “Didn’t you just say the thief would need to be a fraud genius and high up in management?”
    “That would certainly help.”
    “Gabrielle Phillips.”
    “Afraid I don’t follow sir.”
    “She’s got the fraud part nailed and she’s been here three years. How the hell did she get a job in management?”
          The man’s bulging eyes gave his answer. “You know Ms Phillips?”
          “You could say that. You remember Jack Phillips? The fraudster?”
          “He went to prison for twenty years didn’t he? He and his secretary had some investment scam going with a bogus hedge fund?”
          Nicolas nodded. “We’ve just inherited his daughter with this take over. The daughter that doted on her dad, pushed me into signing over half a million, then miraculously disappeared.” Nicolas waved the staff list at his accountant.
    “You’re sure it’s the same Phillips?”
    “I just spoke with her.”
    Malcom gulped.
    “The prosecutors never got anything to stick to her the first time. She had a good lawyer. But she was in on it, she was the one who always lead the meetings for her darling dad. She was the one who got me to sign. Probably talked the rest of the investors into it, just like she finessed me,” he growled.  
    Malcolm was silent, his face a mask of dread. “Should we call the police?”
    “We can’t prove it’s her can we?”
    Malcom shook his head. “No. Like I said, we didn’t even pick it up first time round.”
    “Then we wait,” said Nicolas.  
    That night he barely ate, instead pacing the vast open space of his top floor apartment. Rather than the sprawling view that usually served as a backdrop, tonight the city was blanketed with grey. Rain came in waves, thrumming against the windows and hiding the glittering lights that were a constant reminder that this city really didn’t sleep.
    Gabrielle Phillips, still here in his city, stealing a new nest egg from old Mr. Able while drawing salary at the same time. And now working in one of his stores. What were the chances?  
          “About half a million dollars to one,” he muttered grimly. Clearly the cash he’d lost to her father had dented his pride more than he’d realized. Or was it the loss of the woman?
    The memory of the night he realized he’d become the dumpee rather than dumper washed over him like the rain outside.   He’d arrived at her apartment after a cocktail function, still dressed in his tux, full of things he wanted to discuss with her. Ideas about a new furniture franchise, a piece of corporate gossip he wanted to know if she’d heard. All that was waiting on his tongue along with the kiss she always elicited from him. He’d turned the key and bowled into the room, already talking, already taking off his bow tie and then, nothing.
    It took longer than it should have to register that the apartment was empty. No doubt because he hadn’t believed what he was seeing. Gone were the comfortable emerald couches, the rich plum drapes. All the touches that Gabrielle had brought to the place and had made it warm and inviting were replaced by an echoing emptiness. Nicolas turned to leave. He’d obviously got the wrong apartment, but then he saw the key in his hand. The key Gabrielle had given him on a silver ribbon, a key he’d almost declined because of what it meant.  
    Then this. The empty room. The three line note. The key that had obviously meant nothing at all.
    A boom of