For fifteen minutes, Harm listened to the silent snap of cards, the increasing grim silence in the room, and finally spoke up. “You all look like zombies, and I’m just as tired. So I’m guessing you’re all still sitting here because someone has something they want to say.”

It was tall, white-haired Arthur who spoke up, the one who never made waves, never invited confrontation if there was a prayer of avoiding it. “We all know there’s a thief, Harm. We all know it has to be one of us.”

Purdue pushed back his chair. “And we all want to know what you’re going to do about it. It’s driving us crazy. Not knowing where we stand with our jobs, with the company, with our reputations. With not knowing what’s going to happen.”

Yale, who could be counted on arguing with Purdue on whether the sky was blue, actually nodded. “We can’t keep on this way. None of us can leave. We’ve all got too much at stake. But nobody can think with this cloud over our heads, much less imagine working together again.”

Harm waited for Fiske to take a turn, but his financial officer waved off the chance. So Harm took the floor.

“What we’re going to do-what I’m going to do-is figure out where the money is. Figure out who did it. And then put the lab together. My uncle built an outstanding team-but I believe we can make it even better. You’re each uniquely brilliant. One of you got sidetracked. Not all. Just one.”

Purdue said, “Okay, so that’s what you want to do. But how are you going to do it? All of us feel it. That we’re under a cloud of suspicion.”

“Because you are-but I didn’t put that cloud there,” Harm said. “The thief did. And I’ll tell you this. In the next ten days I’ll know who it is.”

They believed him. God knew why, but Harm saw the trust and reassurance in their faces. It seemed the right time to close down shop, and the group followed him below deck, all of them yawning and expressing exhaustion.