Carter Tomlin is the archetype of the spoiled rich person brought down by the financial debacle of 2008, who responds by going from bad to more bad to very bad to really very bad, to . . . a really bad end. Kind of bad overall.
The FBI Special Agent Carla Windermere's struggle with her own organization is an interesting subplot, but there are loose ends here, starting with the senior partner's shooting of his prime suspect, what was that about? Carla's has help from Kirk Stevens, a Minnesota State investigator who had teamed up with her in the previous novel, and we find that he really does not want to confront perpetrators, seems like he would prefer to be a 9 to 5 office worker, and he has made an unlikely and unfortunate career choice. And Carter's receptionist, "punk-rock college dropout" Tricia, happens to know who to contact to sell a kilo of cocaine, who to contact to act as a get-away driver, and where to find a high-stakes poker game to hijack. So the budding psychopath gets lucky when he answers Tricia's classified ad? The characterizations, motivation, details of the plot, are individually and collectively not good, while the plot strains credulity to the breaking point.