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ugly gossip. A few damaging rumors with enough manufactured evidence to make the family seem out of control.”
    Tate raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “You’d actually go that far?”
    “It’s not something I’d enjoy doing. But if I had to, I would. This arrogant little prick tried to destroy me and everything I built at Musselman,” Quinn said, his eyes like beacons. “The gloves came off after Fielder told MacMillan that I should step down. The brass knuckles went on when he recommended the company’s breakup.”
    The room turned dead silent except for the sound of hissing steam.
    Tate couldn’t help chuckling to himself. The dual threat of being ousted by the board and having his company broken into pieces was enough to make Quinn vulnerable to a melody of manipulations. Maybe David Quinn wasn’t yet ready to cheat on his wife or trade on insider information, but he was willing to defame Wilson Fielder in order to keep Kresge & Company from forcing a breakup of Musselman. It was time to set the hook.
    “Okay, David. We’ll take care of it,” Tate finally said. “I’ll track down MacMillan and express my concerns about Wilson Fielder. You can count on Kamin and me replacing Kresge & Company at next week’s board meeting. One way or another, we’ll make it happen.”
    “Thank you, Wayland. You’ve just taken a big load off my mind,” Quinn said.
    “Oh, we’ll do more than that, David. Just wait until the launch of America’s Warehouse. By the way, Kamin is anxious to meet with you about Musselman’s next stock offering. He arrives tomorrow morning. Let’s plan on having a private dinner tomorrow night.”
    “Marvelous,” Quinn said. His reason for coming to St. Moritz was well on its way to being realized. All he had to do now was let Wayland Tate perform his magic.
    “Have you set your schedule for tonight and tomorrow?” Tate asked.
    “I think I’m going to retire early tonight. Catch up on some sleep. Andrea has me scheduled to hit the slopes first thing in the morning.”
    “Perfect,” Tate said with his infectious smile. “Jules and I will be ready for you tomorrow night.”

9
    Tate – St. Moritz, Switzerland
    After spending the evening with clients, Tate returned to his room to make a few international calls. He started with Jules Kamin. It was midnight in St. Moritz, six o’clock in Boston.
    The secure cell phone buzzed in Kamin’s pocket as he walked to the small conference room that had become his office at KaneWeller’s Boston offices. At age fifty-five, Kamin looked like a young and trim Henry Kissinger, which Tate attributed less to heredity and more to the rigorous regime he’d convinced Kamin to adopt several years earlier. Kamin’s face, however, looked more weary and aged than his years when he answered Tate’s call. He’d just returned from the Fielder & Company closing.
    “How did things go?” Tate inquired as soon as the ringing stopped and he heard Kamin’s voice.
    “The closing went as planned, but we may have a problem,” Kamin said resignedly.
    “Fielder?” Tate said annoyed.
    “No. Our attorneys want to conduct a second round of inquiries into some of Fielder & Company’s client relationships.”
    “This could scuttle the entire deal, Jules,” Tate said, beginning to pace back and forth in the sitting area of his suite. “Who’s behind it?”
    “Cheryl O’Grady has been working Winthorpe behind the scenes, trying to convince him that Fielder & Company’s consulting practices may have involved conspiring to manipulate company stock prices.”
    “Every company conspires to manipulate its stock price. That’s what free enterprise is all about,” Tate said, feeling his blood pressure rising. “What’s motivating O’Grady?”
    “She doesn’t like me. Never has. She knows this is my deal. I think she would jump at any chance to keep me from taking over when Winthorpe retires next year,” Kamin said. He, too, began to pace back and