Frank Cork is head trader at Chicago’s leading brokerage firm. It’s October 1929, and Frank has made a killing trading wheat futures on the city’s commodities exchange. At thirty-two, Frank and his wife, Katrina, have climbed from the South Side to the tony northern suburbs. They’re at the top of their game in their stunning modernist home with two young children. But on October 29, 1929, Frank watches in the trading pit as his fortune is wiped out in a single day. Some traders skulk home while others lurk in the shadows of the Clark Street Bridge. Frank drags himself to Grand Central Station. Hawkers scream, “Black Tuesday, Market Crash,” as Frank staggers onto the nearest train. Flattened by shame, the fallen trader finally debarks a thousand miles later as his train crosses the border into Saskatchewan. Holed up in a shed on the Canadian Prairies, Frank wrestles with how to redeem himself and return home. The only opportunity in sight is selling Canadian whiskey to the Chicago mob. Frank faces setbacks at every turn, including a terrifying visit to the still in the tunnels under Moose Jaw. In Chicago, Frank’s firm is looking for him. Was it suicide? Murder? Everyone’s a suspect, from the managing partner to the mob-boss mayor.