"""Sir, my mommy won't wake up. She’s on the floor."" I looked down. Fifth Avenue was freezing, the kind of New York cold that bites through wool, but the little girl standing next to my town car was wearing a jacket two sizes too small. Her knees were bare. I’m not a nice guy. I’m Jonathan Blake. I close deals that put people out of business. I haven't cried since my divorce five years ago. My schedule is blocked out in fifteen-minute increments, and ""saving random children"" isn't in the spre