by Stuart Woods
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’m also happy to tell you that I am assigning the remainder of all our legal work to Woodman & Weld, where we would like you to join Bill Eggers in supervising it.”
“Thank you very much, Mike. Have you told Bill yet?”
“We spoke on the phone this morning; he was very pleased.”
The car drew up in front of Strategic Services’ building on East Fifty-seventh Street.
“The car will take you back to your office,” Freeman said. “By the way, would you like an office in our building?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Stone said.
“We’ll reserve my old office for you, on the occasions when you’re in the building,” Freeman said.
The two men shook hands, and the car took Stone home.
Stone went into his office and sank into his chair. He had just had the best twenty-four hours of his life, and he was still stunned. He was now a stockholder of Strategic Services, he had a new airplane, and he had not only his bonus of the night before but he would have cash for the sale of his old airplane to the company. What more could he ask for in this lifetime?
The phone rang, and Joan buzzed him. “Bill Eggers,” she said.
Stone picked up the phone. “Hello, Bill.”
“I had a call from Mike Freeman this morning,” Eggers said.
“I heard.”
“Then you know we’re getting all their business?”
“I heard.”
“You and I will work closely to supervise it,” Eggers said.
“I heard.”
“And I hear you have a new airplane.”
“I heard.”
“Is that all you can say?”
Stone sighed. “Bill, I can hardly speak. I’m just letting it all sink in.”
“You do that,” Eggers said, and hung up.
Stone buzzed Joan.
“Yes?”
“Please book me a table at Elaine’s at nine.”
“I’m afraid you have plans for this evening.”
“What?”
“It’s Herbie Fisher’s wedding reception at the Hotel Pierre, at seven, dinner to follow.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes, and remember, Herbie is your second-biggest client.”
Stone groaned. Herbie Fisher was a royal pain in the ass, one of those unfortunate people who never did anything right. Herbie had won a big number in the lottery a while back and had offered Stone a million-dollar retainer to handle all his legal affairs. Stone had been in a financial bind at the time, and in a weak moment he had accepted the money. “How much would it cost me to buy my way out of representing him?” he asked Joan.
“You couldn’t afford it,” Joan said, and hung up.
THREE
Stone arrived at the Pierre late and, consulting the list of private rooms, was surprised to see that Herbie’s wedding reception was in the Grand Ballroom. Stone made his way there and found an acquaintance, Peter Duchin, at the piano, leading a full orchestra. He stopped by the bandstand.
“Hey, Stone,” Duchin said.
“Evening, Peter. Who the hell is paying for all of this?”
“The father of the bride, of course.” Duchin nodded toward a couple dancing past the bandstand. “Jack Gunn, the financier.” Gunn was a handsome man in his sixties, who was dancing with a much younger woman.
Stone thanked the bandleader and made his way to the bar. Suddenly, Herbie Fisher was at his elbow, dressed in white tie and tails and towing his new wife.
“Hi, Stone,” Herbie shouted over the din. “This is my wife, Stephanie.”
“How do you do, Stephanie,” Stone said. “I wish you both every happiness.” Privately, Stone felt that little happiness was in store for the couple. Herbie’s last fiancée had taken a dive off the terrace of the Park Avenue penthouse Herbie had bought with his lottery winnings.
“I’ve heard a great deal about you from Herbie, Stone,” the young woman said. “I hope we’ll be good friends.”
Stone thought she sounded quite normal for someone who had just married Herbie Fisher. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Fisher?” he asked.
“I’d be delighted,” Stephanie replied.
Stone led her to the dance floor and they danced. Stephanie was brunette and small, around five-two, Stone thought, without the heels. “How did you and Herbie meet?” he asked her.
“At P.J. Clarke’s, at the bar,” she replied. “I had just come back from a year abroad after graduating from Smith.”
“Are you going to have a career?” he asked.
“I’m joining my father’s firm after the honeymoon,” Stephanie replied. “I’ll be working as a trader, to start.”
“Are you his heir apparent?”
“I am.”
“I hope you’ll take charge of Herbie’s money,” Stone said. “He can be rather impulsive in the way he spends it.”
“Oh, I already have,” she replied, laughing, “and just in time, too.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Herbie has such a good heart,” she said, “but no head for figures, unless they’re female. I’m going to make him a rich man.”
“I thought he was already rich,” Stone said.
“He’s down to his last ten million after the lottery win,” she said. “In my family, that’s not rich—that’s slightly well-off. I’ve put him on an allowance, and I’m redecorating the apartment with my own money and some family things.”
“I’m glad to hear that, too,” Stone said, remembering what the apartment had looked like on his only visit there.
“Oddly enough, Herbie has very good taste in art. We’ve already bought some pictures he chose. He’s not so good on furnishings and fabrics, though.”
“Herbie has very good taste in wives, too,” Stone said.
She laughed again. “Thank you, Stone. By the way, I’ve paired you with my aunt at dinner, my mother’s recently widowed sister, Adele. You’re at table number one, with us.”
“How delightful,” Stone said, trying not to clench his teeth.
Stone returned the bride to her new husband and got himself a glass of very good champagne. He sneaked a look at the bottle: Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame. If they were giving this to what looked like about seven hundred people in the ballroom, Jack Gunn had done very well indeed in business.
Stone wandered through the crowd, and they were a very presentable lot. Herbie had fallen into a pot of jam, he figured, and he wondered how long it would take before the boy screwed up.
The orchestra stopped, and a headwaiter took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “dinner is served.”
Stone found his way to table number one, where he located his place card, between Stephanie and her widowed aunt Adele. The bride arrived with Herbie and introduced her father, Jack, and her mother, Christine, who turned out to be the much younger woman he had seen Gunn dancing with.
“Good to meet you, Stone,” Gunn said in a velvety bass-baritone voice.
“And you, Jack,” Stone replied. He held Stephanie’s chair for her. And turned to find a very beautiful blonde, wearing a gold lamé sheath, standing behind him. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties.
“Good evening,” she said. “I’m Adele Lansdown.” She offered her hand.
Stone took it. “How do you do? I’m Stone Barrington.” He held her chair for her, then sat down, unable to believe his good luck.
“You,” she said, “are apparently the most eligible man at this shindig; otherwise, Stephanie would not have seated you next to me. She’s been trying to fix me up ever since my husband died.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Stone said.
“Well,” Adele replied, “you’re about the only one who is.”
“Was he ill?”
“Only for about three seconds,” Adele replied. “He died of a gunshot wound.”
“Who shot him?” Stone asked.
“I did,” Adele replied.
Stone was taken aback for only a moment. “And yet you are a free woman. Or are you out on bail?”
She laughed. “I was not charged in his death,” she said.
“You must have had a good lawyer.”
“No, I had a black eye and a broken arm—the detectives in charge of the investigation deemed that sufficient evidence that I was defending myself.”
“I used to be a police detective,” Stone said, “and I would never have dreamed of arresting you.”
“Are you still?”
“No, I retired some years ago. I’m an attorney.”
“You went to law school after being a police officer?”
“Before,” Stone said. “I took the bar afterward.”
“At what firm are you?”
“I’m of counsel to Woodman & Weld.”
“A very fine firm,” she said. “I considered hiring them to deal with my husband’s estate.”
“I trust you found competent counsel.”
“I found them; whether they were competent is another matter. I wish I’d gone with your firm. What does ‘of counsel’ mean?”
“It means I’m not a partner, and I work from my own offices.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “Are you what they call a fixer?”
“I’ve been called worse,” Stone said, “but all attorneys are fixers, or at least they’d better be, if they want to hold on to their clients.”
“And what clients do you represent?” she asked.
“I range across the client list,” Stone replied, “but my principal responsibility is a company called Strategic Services.”
“Oh, I read an article in Vanity Fair about them last year,” she said. “Very interesting outfit.”
“They are, indeed.”
“I’m impressed, Mr. Barrington.”
“Stone.”
“And I’m Adele,” she said. “Perhaps we could talk later about Woodman & Weld handling my affairs.”
“I’d be happy to introduce you to the managing partner, Bill Eggers,” Stone said, “but I’m not sure I want a business relationship with you.”
“And why not?” she asked.
“I’d rather take you to dinner and discuss that,” Stone said.
She smiled for the first time. “What a good idea,” she replied.
FOUR
The party eventually waned, and Stone escorted Adele Lansdown down to street level to look for a cab.
“I’ve got my car,” Adele said. “I’ll give you a ride.”
They got into a white Mercedes sedan and were driven away. Stone gave the driver his address.
“Is that Turtle Bay?” Adele asked.
“Yes; I have a house there.”
“I’d like to see it,” she said. “I’ve always thought that an interesting neighborhood.”
The car parked out front, and they went inside, where Stone began turning on lights.
“This is very handsome,” Adele said, looking around the living room and dining room. “Beautiful woodwork.”
“My father did all the woodwork in the house,” Stone said. “In fact, this was his first big job, for my mother’s aunt. She left me the house some years ago, and I renovated it.”
“You did a lovely job. You did everything yourself?”
“I hired an electrician and a plumber and some casual labor, but the rest I did myself. Come, I’ll show you the kitchen and garden.” He led her downstairs, walked her through the kitchen, then opened the doors to the garden.
“Oh, a common garden,” Adele enthused. “How pleasant.”
“In warmer weather, yes,” Stone said, taking her back indoors. “Would you like to see the bedrooms?”
“Perhaps another time,” she said, smiling.
“My offices are on this level, too. My aunt’s tenant was a dentist, and when he retired I took over the space. It works very well.”
“I must be going,” she said, “but I’ll take you up on the offer of dinner.”
“When are you free?”
“The day after tomorrow?”
“Good, I’ll pick you up.”
“Seven-forty Park,” she said.
“Eight o’clock?”
“That’s fine.”
He put her into her car and watched her drive away. Some widowed aunt!
When Stone wandered into his office the following morning he found Herbie Fisher sitting on his sofa, waiting for him.
“Good morning, Herbie,” Stone said. “I thought you were honeymooning.”
“I’m afraid that’s off,” Herbie said.
Oh, God, Stone thought, he’s screwed up already. Stone took a chair. “What’s the problem?”
“We’ve just heard that Jack Gunn was arrested early this morning.”
“Arrested? For what?”
“I’m not sure; some sort of financial irregularities in his firm. It should be in the papers tomorrow.”
“This is not another Madoff thing, is it?”
“I hope not,” Herbie said.
“Herbie, have you invested with your new father-in-law?”
“I’m not sure; Stephanie is handling that.”
“Where is she?”
“With her mother.”
“Herbie, you should get over there immediately and find out where your money is, and if it’s with Gunn, you’d better move it fast.”
“Okay, I’ll go talk to Stephanie.”
“Have you canceled your travel plans yet?”
“No. I guess I’d better call the travel agent. We were supposed to fly to Saint Barts this afternoon.”
“That’s exactly what you should do,” Stone said. “If this is a financial scandal, you and Stephanie are better off not being in New York.”
“I’ll see what Stephanie thinks,” Herbie said, then left.
Joan came into his office with a copy of the New York Post. “Is this Herbie’s new father-in-law?” she asked, handing the paper to Stone.
“I’m afraid it is,” Stone replied. “I met him last night.”
“There’s no mention of the wedding in the story,” she said.
“They’ll get around to it, don’t worry.” His phone rang and Joan picked it up. “Mr. Barrington’s office . . . One moment.”
She covered the phone with her hand. “Somebody called Adele Lansdown.”
Stone took the phone from her. “Good morning, Adele.”
“Have you heard?” she asked.
“Yes, Herbie was just here. He’s on his way to the Gunns’ place to see Stephanie.”
“Stop him, if you can,” she said. “There’s a mob scene over there.”
“Hold on, please. Joan, see if you can get Herbie on his cell. Tell him to go straight home, not to the Gunns’, and to try Stephanie on her cell and tell her the same thing.” He went back to Adele. “My secretary is trying to reach Herbie. Do you know anything about what’s led up to this?”
“Not a thing. Jack is the most upright man I have ever met.”
“Do you have money invested with him?”
“Yes, most of my liquid assets.”
“Can you get it out?”
“I can’t do that; it would look awful if Jack’s sister-in-law appeared to have no faith in him.”
“Have you talked to Christine?”
“Just for a moment. She has no idea what’s happening, except some people showed up at their house at breakfast time and took Jack away.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Do I need a lawyer, Stone?”
“Are you in business with Jack, except as an investor?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then just sit tight and get somebody to screen your phone calls. Don’t talk to anybody from the press.”
“Not even to support Jack?”
“Not even for that, until you know more. Call me if you need any help.”
“All right. Thanks, Stone.” She hung up.
&n
bsp; “Do you know anybody who invests with Gunn?” Joan asked.
“That was his sister-in-law; she does, but nobody else that I know of. Did you reach Herbie?”
“Yes, I caught him in a cab. He’s going home, and he’s trying to reach Stephanie.”
The phone rang again and Joan answered. “It’s Mike Freeman at Strategic Services,” she said.
“Hello, Mike.”
“Morning, Stone. Have you heard about this Jack Gunn thing?”
“Yes, just a few minutes ago.”
“We’re having a board meeting in half an hour. I’d like for you to be here.”
“I’m on my way. What’s the agenda?”
“Strategic Services has got more than ten million dollars invested with Gunn. That’s the agenda.”
Stone was in a cab when his cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”
“It’s Bill Eggers.”
“Good morning, Bill.”
“I assume you’ve seen the papers, about Jack Gunn.”
“Yes. I met him last night at his daughter’s wedding reception.”
“I just had a call from his corporate counsel, Leighton Craft. He wants us to represent Gunn, and I’d like you to help me handle it.”
“We’ve got a conflict, Bill. Strategic Services has a big investment with him; I’m on the way to a board meeting there right now.”
“It may not be a conflict. Leighton says that Gunn has done nothing wrong and is cooperating with the U.S. Attorney. I’m meeting with them this afternoon, and I’d like you to be there.”
“All right, but I’ll have to tell Mike Freeman about it.”
“Go ahead and do that. I’ll see you at three o’clock here.”
Stone hung up. Yesterday he had never heard of Jack Gunn, and now he was up to his ass in the man’s problems.
FIVE
Stone arrived at Strategic Services, and the receptionist sent him in to Mike Freeman straightaway. Mike had moved into Jim Hackett’s old office.
“Sit down, Stone,” Freeman said. “I’m going to place a conference call to London, Tel Aviv, and Hong Kong in just a minute, but I wanted to talk to you first. What do you know about the Jack Gunn arrest?”
