Excerpt From HM

“I believe this may be the most wicked financial cover up in New York’s history, Lord Cross.” She paused and narrowed her eyes on him. “Again, thank you for agreeing to see me. It will be cathartic for you. Something of this nature is akin to a home built on top of a sacred Native American burial ground. You are sure to have poltergeists.”

Ethan watched as the award winning New York Times journalist dug into her tattered western-style satchel and recovered a miniature voice recorder, yellow notepad and a handful of fresh razor sharp pencils. She observed that the expression on his face was one of compulsion mixed with a tablespoon of fear. His gray eyes appeared fatigued. He was nonetheless handsome, just tired and a bit worn around the edges. Somewhere in his early forties she guessed. He wore a rust-colored cashmere Holland and Holland cardigan, maroon moleskin trousers and scuffed John Lobb loafers with argyle socks.

She was anxious to hear his story.

Everyone in Manhattan knew that there was something in the air that was amiss. Something eerie and illogical, and from what she understood – what was rumored throughout the written world - it was Lord Cross that had the answers. Yet for the past year, he had vanished. Someone whispered they had seen him on a river raft in Iguazu Falls, a point between Argentina and Brazil. Another was overheard declaring they saw him smoking a cigar in Havana at the garden restaurant, Paladar “La Cocina de Lilliam.” Yet another, said he was for sure in Budapest at Donatella’s kitchen sharing duck-liver pâté and red-black wine with a striking, voluptuous brunette that resembled Nigella Lawson.