Chapter Four: The Expired Metronome

At nine on Monday morning, Lin Mo had a nameplate at a recruitment meeting for the first time. It did not say scout. It said TEMPORARY ANALYSIS CONSULTANT. Viktor Salin knew how to give a man a chair while reminding him it belonged to someone else. “Seven million is on the table,” Salin said, tapping Elias Kovac's file. “We turned three into seven with one friendly. Selling now is how judgment becomes value.” “Selling now demolishes the foundation we just repaired.” Lin slid another file to the center of the table. “I want Gabriel Serra.” The photograph showed a man with silver in his beard. Thirty-four years old. Eleven starts in eighteen months. Fluid drained twice from his right knee.