Even more concerning—and more intriguing—than a potential EO was the photograph of the civilian hero. He had asked to remain nameless, but nameless and anonymous are not the same, especially where papers are concerned, and there, below the article, was a picture. A grainy photo of a young man turning away from the scene and the cameras, but not bef

So who cares what I can prove in the courts? This is right. This happened, and I am going to do anything I can to uncover this horror, this evil.

‘Is he in the mortuary?’ I asked Vigot. ‘How did you know he was dead?’ It was a foolish policeman’s question, unworthy of the man who read Pascal, unworthy also of the man who so strangely loved his wife. You cannot love without intuition.

“Don’t know what you people hope to accomplish,” she hissed.

In his first days at Bridgewater, Comey would find that his new gig came with certain costs, the first of which was his pride. He was told he had been assigned the thirty-one-year-old Bridgewater cohead of research, Matthew Granade, as his “ski partner,” as the hedge fund called it. The idea was to have someone a few feet away at all times to asses