Henderson's death was like a giant rock crashing into New York's seemingly calm pond.
The day after the news broke, the atmosphere at the United Alliance Club was oppressive and tense. The usually arrogant directors and board members now had a hint of unconcealed fear on their faces.
"An assassination," Charles Barton, the representative of the Eastern Railroad Alliance, spoke, his voice a little hoarse, "Right at the entrance of the Trade Association's headquarters, in broad daylight."
"What do the police say?" another director from the Meat Trade Association asked.
"They can't say anything," Barton replied, "They found the room where the shooter fired, but it was empty. This was a professional operation."
"Was it Argyle?" someone raised the question on everyone's mind.
Barton shook his head. "No, it doesn't seem like him," he analyzed, "He has already won. Henderson's death brings him no benefit, it only complicates things. He has no motive."
"Then who was it?"
