The private heliport on the East River at Thirty-Fourth Street was whipped by freezing autumn rain as a sleek black AgustaWestland AW109 helicopter sat idling on the concrete pad, its twin turbine engines whining as the rotor blades began their spinning rotation. Raymond Vance—fifty-five years old, dressed in an expensive cashmere overcoat, carrying two heavy leather briefcases stuffed with bearer bonds and diamonds—sprinted across the rain-slicked tarmac toward the open…
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