The law student was young and had his dreams. He'd qualified third in his class at Harvard, now offers poured in from every law firm in America. The firm was small, but well respected. They were prepared to match, and then exceed, Mitch's wildest dreams, eighty thousand a year, a BMW and a low-interest mortgage. Soon the house, the car and the job were his. Then the nightmares begin: the secret files, the bugs in the new bedroom, the mysterious deaths of colleagues, and the millions of dollars of mob money pouring through the office into the Cayman Islands, dollars that the FBI would do anything to trace.