Following the success of his first two novels, “Facts are Stubborn Things” and “Punch Line”, award-winning author Richard A. Danzig returns to the exhilarating world of lawyer Chance Cormac with “The Collectors” (September 15, 2025) a pulse-pounding journey from New York City’s world of finance and fine art to the hidden dangers of a tropical paradise.
When Chance is hired to investigate a valuable painting which is suspected of being a forgery, he discovers that the painting and his clients may not be what they seem.
Meanwhile in Costa Rica, former Navy SEALs Damian and JR are arrested for the murder of a surfer that washed up on the beach near their surf shack. As they fight to survive inside a violent prison, Chance uncovers a black market of human exploitation, greed and blood money, all protected by a corrupt police force.
Bringing back fan favorite characters, The Collectors is a legal thriller that blends courtroom drama, suspense, and international intrigue and is perfect for fans of John Grisham and Michael Connelly.
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
The scream of the howler monkey sounds more like the growl of a wild beast fighting for its life than the grunt of a spider monkey or a chimp. They sit high in the trees of Costa Rica. Howler monkeys are jet black and are difficult to see through the dense foliage even when the tropical sun shines bright. No matter how often you hear the howlers screaming, the sound is always somehow unexpected and frightening. Their loud unearthly criescaused the ancient Mayans to worship the howler monkeys as gods.
Damian was up early. Tyler, the dog who adopted JR on the beach when he first came to Costa Rica, was waiting at the door. Tyler was part greyhound and part collie. He was fast and loved the surf. Sometimes JR would put Tyler on his paddleboard and they could be seen floating, silhouetted at sunset. Tyler was named after JR’s hometown in Texas. JR was still sleeping. Damian opened the door and said, “Let’s go, boy!”
Every morning since reuniting with his friend, Damian and Tyler would take a morning run on the white sands of Tamarindo as the tropical sun was rising on the horizon in a blaze of red and orange. Nobody was on the beach and they could both run free. Damian was looking forward to surfing with the Tamarindo dawn patrol after his run, then spending the day repairing boards at the Tico Tide Surf Shop, owned by Troy Travner. He shook his head. He never imagined living in a tropical paradise with JR and being part of a surfing community.
Damian enjoyed running in the early morning. He ran barefoot in just his board shorts and faded Tico Tide tee shirt. He enjoyed the feel of the cool sand on his feet and sea air on his face. He breathed in the smell of the fragrant ocean breeze and the orchids that grew wild. After a mile, he didn’t feel his legs anymore, only the rhythm of his breath. He saw the waves were up. JR and Troy would be happy. It was good for surfing and good for business at the shop. When he looked up, he and Tyler were already halfway to the remote cove where only the best surfers could “mack”.
When he jogged each morning his thoughts ran free. It was hard to believe that more than a year had already passed since he left New York and moved to Costa Rica to create a new life with his friend and former SEAL, JR. He thought about Troy and the many Costa Rican friends he had made. The beautiful Tico women, who were so genuine and friendly and had none of the New York City edge. The surfers who came into the shop, who were the furthest thing from a SEAL, but were disciplined and dedicated to their sport. It wasn’t home yet, but almost.
This morning, he was remembering his tours as JR’s platoon leader and the successful missions they had fought. Smiling, he thought of the years he’d worked for the attorney Chance Cormac, his good friend and mentor, as an investigator and then as a law clerk in Brooklyn. How Chance had convinced him to enroll in law school. The many trials where they worked together, side by side.
How it all ended with their last case, involving a corrupt and psychopathic policeman. The feeling of the bullet hitting him in the chest like a sledgehammer when he was shot by a rookie cop.
He thought of Susan Chu, a fellow law student and clerk for Chance. Her beauty, intelligence, accomplishments. He had recovered from being shot but couldn’t heal the scars on his chest or in his mind when he thought of Susan’s violent death and his guilt for not protecting her.
Damian said, “Okay, enough of that! Tyler, let’s see what you got!”
Damian put his head down and sprinted fifty yards until he cleared his head and his heart. Tyler shot past him, barking with joy. Damian heard the screeches of the howler monkeys as they looked down from their perches high above the beach. For some reason, he felt they were warning him to stay away. He and JR had seen and heard many monkeys when they were deployed on special ops missions as SEALs in the Middle East and Asia. But those monkeys were small and, if they talked at all, made soft grunts or funny chirping sounds. When the howlers screamed they opened their jaws, bared their teeth and let out a demonic yell.
As Damian ran, he looked up to see if he could catch sight of one of the angry howlers he knew were looking down at him from their hiding places. He was looking up when he heard a distant, more terrifying howl. He suddenly realized it was not a demon monkey but a human voice, screaming somewhere down on the beach! Tyler stopped short, growled, and took off down the beach. Damian sprinted behind Tyler to see where the screams were coming from. As he charged down the beach, his mind was suddenly back in the Middle East with JR on a SEAL mission, hearing the screams of a wounded enemy or a member of his own platoon. He had run a hundred yards when the screaming suddenly stopped.
In the distance he saw Tyler running in circles, barking at a young man with long black hair, wearing only a bright red Hawaiian bathing suit, lying motionless, face down in the sand. The surfer’s body lay prone next to a gleaming surf board that was bobbing up and down in the wake nearby.
Damian yelled, “Tyler, sit! Stay! Good boy!” He approached the young surfer, knelt down, and quickly turned him over onto his back. He recognized the lifeless gaze in the young man’s eyes. The same look he had seen too many times in combat. Blood was gushing from two identical wounds, one on each side below the surfer’s stomach.
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