Book Review Wall Street Journal Novels & Stories

CARTER'S POV The Wall Street Journal ran the story on Wednesday morning. Not buried in the business section where scandals usually lived but front page, above the fold, with a photo of me leaving David's office looking exactly like what I was—a man watching his empire crumble in real time.

“Nothing you have not navigated before.” “Send the requests to Patricia,” I say. “She filters everything.” “Already sent,” he says. “She replied in four minutes.” “That sounds right,” I say. “She said yes to three and no to eleven and maybe to two and to send the maybe ones back with better parameters,” he says. “That also sounds right,” I say. “The Wall Street Journal wants a follow-up piece,” he says. “The same writer who covered the estate fraud case in December. She wants to interview you both together.”

(Bauer) My office is the highest one in the entirety of Century City, and I have always considered the view to be a cure-all. Today not even the view can improve my mood. Three screens are flickering on the far wall. CNBC on the left, Bloomberg in the middle. The Wall Street Journal live ticker on the right. Three different sets of strangers in nice suits are explaining the same story to me, with mild variations of phrasing, and the story is not what I so carefully planned.

Chapter 25: The Master Copy The sun rose higher over the Brooklyn harbor. It cast a glow across the wide-plank floors of the warehouse. Elena stood by the glass display case near the entrance. She watched the light hit the black iron key and the yellowed edges of the recovered Wall Street manuscript. For fifteen years her words had been a product. They were spun quickly to satisfy demanding platforms. They were wrapped in storylines and hidden behind a fake name. Looking at the pages now she didn't see a trap or a writer's cage. She saw where her fiction had broken down the walls of an empire.

POV: Luther The boardroom was a theatre, and I was the god they’d come to worship. Fortune’s editors would call it another “victory.” Forbes would plaster my face across their next cover with a headline about ruthlessness. The Wall Street Journal would marvel at the empire Reed Conglomerate had carved in less than a decade. Shipping, pharmaceuticals, tech, aerospace—I owned more than they could count, and I broke more than they dared to name. Tonight was no different. Men twice my age sat across the table, voices cracking as they defended sinking numbers. Their ties were loosened, their foreheads beaded with sweat. One cleared his throat.

, I yelled, lifted the table so I could push the top magazine away from the weight of the table. I lifted it and waved it in front of her face. "How can you use the wall street journal to steady your shabby table!?" "Excuse you – just because it is your bible, doesn't mean I'll treat it that way!" Marie and Gerard came to the kitchen. Gerard saw the magazine in my hand and immediately went to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Marthe, please, just say it's a masterpiece. He loves WSJ more than Véronique loves her money. He'll defend it to death."

The Wall Street Journal called me the “Chicago Prodigy.” Forbes put me on their “30 Under 30.” The New York Times hailed me as a “titan of the new era.” No one knew my past. No one knew I had once been the wife of a Mafia Don. In their eyes, I was just a successful businesswoman. That was good. Six months later, I bought a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Five thousand square feet, overlooking Central Park, with over two million dollars in renovations. This was my own home.

Mason whipped out his phone and turned it around, showing him the headline on the ‘NewYork Business Post’ ‘“SAN LIMITED PLUMMETING IN THE STOCK MARKET—Who’s behind the elusive billionaire’s downfall and is it all deliberate ?”’ “It’s all nonsense,” Justin grunted, “Every single one of it. It’s nonsense.” “Come on man. You can be honest with me. Gianna is gutting for blood and hell hath a woman’s scorn.” Mason responded.

London I had been curious about Sinclair’s job since I had read a little bit about him in the Not Yet Forty magazine. Yes, he was as rich as Croesus, but how exactly did he make his money? I knew it had something to do with Wall Street though, but that was as far as I knew.