“You think he’ll stay gone?” Jo asked.
He laughed at first. Men like Shaw always laughed. Then she played him a recording of himself admitting to arson. Then she slid a folder across his marble coffee table: the offshore account numbers, the photo of him with a councilman taking a bribe, the bank statements showing the families he’d stolen from. She’d even included a spreadsheet. Maya liked spreadsheets. lady gang maya rose
Instead of Elena, Shaw got the full crew. Samira disabled the building’s security from a van down the street. Jo parked a stolen box truck across the only exit. Tiny stood at the elevator bank, knuckles wrapped in tape, smiling at every rent-a-cop who tried to pass. And Maya walked into the penthouse wearing a wire that fed directly to a reporter at the Village Voice who’d been trying to break Shaw for two years. “You think he’ll stay gone