"Adrian, good buddy, how are you?" Owen's voice had always possessed a knowing quality to it. It sounded a little nasal, just tight and bothered enough to sound important and self assured. For the second time in his life Adrian noticed something more in the notes. Owen's voice had a depth to it.

"I'm alright," he spoke evenly into his cordless phone. He wasn't. He left Lippensetter at noon after sleeping at his desk. Normal enough, as far as normal had mutated for Adrian. The subway ride was unwelcome, but necessary, since the noon day light reached a level of suffusion that left his retinas too tired to peer into his lcd screens and he planned to be back at his desk in a few hours. He only left to pick up his cellphone that connected him directly to a client in Barcelona who would be starting his evening trading and would be trying to reach him right about now. "I was just running home for a moment to grab a few things," it was obvious now. He didn't need to put things together. The reasons screamed from every corner of his apartment. "But I'm not feeling too great. I think I might stay here for a good bit."

"That sounds great. You've been working more than hard enough." There it was again. The depth he noticed, felt, that first time he spoke to Owen ten years ago. It wasn't a depth like reverberations, or a depth like the body behind the skin of a drum. It was a depth like a vertical lagoon. A vertical lagoon and an invitation to swim freely only to find that deep down beneath the soft blue warmth of the lagoon's edge were dark, cold, caves open to the deep sea. And frequenting those caves were sharks. Sharks that had been traveling for days for a good meal. He was not able to put the sensation to words then and had dismissed it as the sound of wisdom. Would haves and should haves flit through his mind, but the truth was he simply could not have ten years ago. "Why don't you take a few weeks off. I was calling because I wanted to tell you I'm going to move you down to lead assistant supervisor of our day time south western division. I just wanted you to hear it from me, because I know this kind of a move might be difficult for you. We really need some good leadership down there and I think you've got the experience to best help them get back on track..." Owen's voice trailed off in Adrian's ears.

The situation was difficult to comprehend in its plainess. The deadbolt to his apartment was gone. The aluminum frame was pitted and dented in. The KAC Masterkey the FBI used, a light shoulder stock shotgun, bit into it and ripped the bolt clean away hours before. Taped to the back of the door was a copy of the no-knock warrant, the search and siezure documentation, and the subpena. The cellphone he returned to pick up was long gone. As were his desktop tower, backup tape drive, two locked filing cabinets with thousands of pages of transaction details, contacts, and copies of contracts, all with his name on them. All of it was gone. "...and that's why we need you. So take some time off. You've absolutely earned it and I'll need you to hit the ground running. You won't need to relocate or anything like that. It's all going to be run out of the south west office wing a couple of floors down..." His contact in Barcelona would be calling soon. He thought it was under Owen's radar, but now he doubted even that. His other two cellphones were still untouched on the coffee table.

Ritchstand promised him it would be a sure way to get ahead and make some extra cash at Lippensetter. Ritchstand had given him the number, told him to get a seperate line so he wouldn't need to worry about Owen finding out and cherry picking the client. Ritchstand was always so helpful. So caring and precise with every detail. "...and you've been a huge help in securinig our contracts in Nippon. I can't really thank you enough for backing up our files here. Ritch promised me he'll be able to fill in for you, but honestly no one can replace your sense of humor here. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I get it." Adrian half chuckled and half choked on the dull edged smoldering rock of rage in the pit of his stomach. It was all there. All laid bare. Owen was waving his baton from the first handshake, orchestrating, planning, and working the levers of his money machine and all Adrian saw was the brightness of the lights, the beauty of the music, on the outside.But now he was on the inside. He was a major component of that wonderous, multi-national, machine and he was being sacrificed to ensure the machine would keep on running. He lost. The game was fixed. The refs were corrupt. The commisioner was stepping in and someone was going to take responsibility.

"Adrian, good buddy, I've always thought you had what it takes."

"I know. I totally understand. You don't shore up a failing bridge with second rate parts right?"

"Hah, that's the spirit. You're one of my most valuable men, and I know you'll be able to get that south west division turned around in no time." Official demotion after demotion. Lateral promotion after lateral promotion. He saw this coming. The pattern was too clear to ignore, but as long as he got something out of it he wasn't bothering himself with the 'why's. The 'why's finally made themselves known. He saw the picture in its entireity with a clarity that felt blade sharp. It was simply a matter of distance. He didn't have the protections Owen did. The army of lawyers. And now he didn't even have the internal connections to implicate anyone but himself in the inevitable fraud, laundering, trafficing, and conspiracy charges. He didn't know exactly what his clients did, but he also didn't need to know from that first meeting with Owen when he trumpeted the virtues and cashflow of operating Lippensetter FFI under a no questions asked internal policy. The FBI, SEC, and FTC wouldn't put the real pieces together. They would put together the pieces Owen had been carefully laying out for them to find and Adrian had been too goal oriented to see the trees his forest of wealth was composed of. "So I'll see you in a couple of weeks. Take care, good buddy."

"I will," Adrian turned off the cordless and hurled it at the dry wall corner once occupied by his black PC tower. "Fuck. Jesus fucking christ!" His voice reached a pitch foriegn to his own ears, but it felt damn good. He rose up from the couch and stumbled to his refrigerator, his limbs beginning to tremble with hate. He'd been had. Thoroughly screwed. He ripped the door open, rattling the jars on their neat little trays. Not a thing was edible. He'd been so busy trying to snatch up what he thought was his share of what he deserved he hadn't actually had a meal in his own apartment in years. "What the fuck is wrong with me," he shook his head, thrusting his arm into the cool box and swept it left, then violently right.