Late into the night, after the celebrations had subsided and the grand estate had settled into peaceful quiet, Leo sat at the mahogany desk in his private second-floor study, nursing a cup of black coffee. Even with Alexander Cross in federal detention, the instincts of a master forensic accountant never slept. Leo had been cross-referencing the internal communications extracted from Arthur Vance's titanium briefcase against House Moretti's domestic expenditure ledgers…
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