17. A worm in the Big Apple

A worm in the Big Apple

Maybe the ve doormen noticed something was wrong. Maybe they didn’t.

Of course no building real y needs ve doormen, but then the Castle Tower apartment building in New York City was never about utility, it was always about excess. e sort of people with apartments in the Castle liked to see a lot of staff about the place.

Maybe the half-dozen members of the concierge department spotted a new, more sombre mood in Lew Bronski as he emerged from the elevator and strode through the vast cathedral-like foyer, past the phalanx of uniformed lift boys towards the great glass revolving doors. Maybe the guys who saluted him as he stepped out of the building and into his armoured stretch limo waiting on Fifth Avenue noticed a change in Lew that day. A little tension in the jaw? A falter in the walk?

Maybe they didn’t. A lifetime in high nance had taught Lew Bronski to keep a poker face at al times and he was maintaining one now at this supremely chal enging moment in his life. is moment of complete and utter ruin.

Lew Bronski. Mr Wal Street. Genuine New York royalty. Chair of just about every high-end Jewish charity on the East Coast. Money guru to the stars. e guy who couldn’t walk through his own country club without people throwing money at him to invest. King Midas himself. Lucky Lew the Lucky Jew was about to turn himself in to the New York City Police Department as a prelude to what he knew would be the rest of his life behind bars.

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