Glancing around the darkened parking lot, he swore and started for the street. He’d find a taxi. “Mr. Prentiss?” Peterson’s voice cut through the darkness. “If you’ll give us one minute, we’ll have a car here for you.” Richard stopped. He was covered in blood. If he made it to the curb, he’d probably end up with a police ride home. “Fine.” The men who’d followed him out fanned around him in a semi-circle. Peterson came to stand next to him on the curb. “The man who fired the weapon was named Arthur Braun. His father invested heavily in your father’s confidence scheme and the family lost everything. They never recovered. Arthur, however, had other issues including a diagnosed clinical depression. He went off his meds over a year ago—right around the time the story broke about the Princess Alyxandretta.” He tried not to listen, but the man kept right on speaking.
