“You smell like grass.” A few weeks earlier, we had finished The Sound and the Fury at school. I thought it was a clever thing to say. “It’s the grass that smells like grass. You’ll still don’t understand the passage.” Katie rolled over and tugged at my zipper, and I...
I love anecdotes. Notice how I didn’t say “short stories?” I’m talking about vignettes less than 1,000 words. There’s something delicious about the slices of everyday life you’re more likely to hear from a friend over drinks than...
I love anecdotes. Notice how I didn’t say “short stories?” I’m talking about vignettes less than 1,000 words. There’s something delicious about the slices of everyday life you’re more likely to hear from a friend over drinks than from an author in a 350-page thriller....
An excerpt from The Pell Heist, my book in progress. Memories of the Channing heist had faded. There were few clues. No trace of the paintings. No insurance and no contact from the thieves. Three weeks after the robbery, the Rhode Island police found the body of a...
Daughter: “I got it.” Wife: “Let it ring.” Son: “No, dad. Please, don’t.” We were eating dinner at the kitchen table—targets of opportunity. At the time, we were averaging three to four telemarketing calls per night. My family knows I’m a sucker for a good sales...
Daughter: “I got it.” Wife: “Let it ring.” Son: “No, dad. Please, don’t.” We were eating dinner at the kitchen table-targets of opportunity. At the time, we were averaging three to four telemarketing calls per night. My family...
The New York Times describes my novels as “money porn,” “a red-hot franchise,” and “glittery thrillers about fiscal malfeasance.” Through fiction I explore the dark side of money and the motivations of those who have it, want more, and will steamroll anybody who gets in their way.