Harper looked past him toward the trading floor, now slowly filling with confused juniors and coffee-carrying VPs. Somewhere among them was the person who had built this bomb.
Eric turned. His smile was a thin scar. “They didn’t hide it in a swap. They hid it as a swap. Different animal. Different skeleton.” He slid a scrap of paper across the desk. On it: .
“Harper,” he breathed. “Did you get the email?”