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“No, really, I heard he was coming tonight.”

The young investment banker looked at his buddy, Freddie Wilcox. “O’Banyon? Are you crazy? He’s in the middle of the Condi-Foods merger.”

“I asked his assistant.” Freddie tweaked his Hermès tie. “It’s on his calendar.”

“He must never sleep.”

“Gods don’t have to, Andrew.”

“Well, then, where is he?”

From their vantage point in a corner of the Waldorf- Astoria’s ballroom, they sifted through the crowd of Man- hattan highfliers, looking for the man they called The Idol.

Sean O’Banyon was their boss’s boss and, at thirty- six, one of Wall Street’s big dogs. He ran the mergers- and-acquisitions arm of Sterling Rochester, and was capable of leveraging billions of dollars at the drop of a hat or killing a mega deal because he didn’t like the numbers. Since arriving on the Street, he’d engineered one perfectly executed corporate acquisition after another. No one had his track record or his instincts.

Or his reputation for eating hard-core financiers for lunch.

Man, folks would have called him SOB even if those hadn’t been his initials.

He was indeed a god, but