CHAPTER ONE “Night, Murph.” I raised a hand to the security guard at 350 Jay Street, the big building that housed, among other things, the Brooklyn District Attorney’s Office, where I happened to work. “See ya, Zola.” Murphy waved me out the doors without even looking up from his phone. Some security. Day in and day out, more than seven hundred attorneys, paralegals, interns, investigators, and other employees worked tirelessly to rid the borough of its worst criminals. The p