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The following Monday morning, Stone was in his office reviewing documents when his secretary, Joan, buzzed him on the intercom.

“Call for you on line one,” she said.

“I could have sworn I said something about not wanting to be disturbed.”

“You did. I’m choosing to ignore you.”

“Tell whoever it is that I’m tied up.”

“Tell her yourself.”

“Who is it?”

“Dame Felicity.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Didn’t I? Oops.” She hung up.

Stone punched line one.

“Felicity. What a pleasant way to start my week.”

“My, aren’t you the charmer today.”

“With you, always.”

Dame Felicity Devonshire was the head of MI6, the British equivalent of the CIA, and a longtime friend of Stone’s.

They were also neighbors, both having adjacent country houses in the English countryside, south of London.

“I’m calling because I’m hoping to entice you to pop over for the weekend.”

“ This weekend?”

“I know it’s short notice, but I’m throwing a party on Saturday, and I want to make sure there’s at least one interesting person there.”

“Other than yourself, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I’d be honored to attend.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Bring Dino and Viv, too, if you can.”

“I’ll ask them.”

“And that lovely insurance investigator I’ve been hearing about.”

“You mean Monica. Sadly, she took a job in San Francisco and that’s pretty much that.”

“What a pity. Well, if there’s someone else you’d like to bring along, feel free.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Until Saturday.”

“See you then.” Stone hung up, checked his calendar, then buzzed Joan.

“Clear my schedule on Friday. Monday, too, while you’re at it. And let Faith know we’ll be flying to Windward Hall Friday morning, wheels up at ten a.m.”

“Got it.”

Stone called Dino.

“What may the great city of New York do for you this morning?” Dino asked.

“Dinner tonight?”

“Can’t tonight. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s good.”

“Patroon’s? Seven?”

“Done.”

“It’ll only be me. Viv leaves for Barcelona tonight. Hence the reason I am unavailable.”

“Lucky Viv,” Stone said.

“One other thing. Dame Felicity is having a party on Saturday night, and we are all invited. I’ll be flying out on Friday, if you care to join me.”

“I’m game, but I’ll have to check with Viv. I’m not sure when she’s coming back. I’ll let you know when I know.”

Stone hung up and turned his attention back to the files he’d been working on.

An hour later, Joan knocked on his doorjamb.

“It’s time,” she said.

Stone looked up, confused.

“Time for what?”

“Your lunch with Jack Coulter.”

“Right.” He looked at his watch.

It was already a quarter past noon.

“Tell Fred—”

“He’s waiting for you in the garage.”

Fred was Stone’s factotum, a job that included the role of chauffeur.

“Thank you, Joan. What would I do without you?”

“I ask myself that question daily.”

Jack Coulter had already been shown to a table at Café Chelsea when Stone arrived.

The two men greeted each other warmly, then took their seats.

“Apologies for making you wait,” Stone said.

“No apologies necessary. My fault for being early.”

“You’re looking well, Jack.”

“Doing the best I can with what I’ve got.”

Jack had recently turned seventy but could have passed for a decade and a half younger.

“How’s Hillary?”

Hillary was Jack’s wife.

“As beautiful as always. She’s having a spa day with some of her friends, otherwise she would have joined us.”

“Give her my regards.”

“I will.”

A waiter approached and took their order.

After he left, Jack said, “I appreciate you meeting with me today.”

“I take it there’s something you need my help with?”

Not only had Jack and Hillary been Stone’s clients for several years, but Stone considered them friends.

Stone was one of only a handful of people who knew that Jack’s real name was Johnny Fratelli, and that he was an ex-con with an interesting past.

“Not something, someone,” Jack said.

“Is this person causing you problems?”

“In a manner of speaking, but it’s not the way you think. It’s our niece, Sara. Great-niece, really. Her mother was Winston’s daughter.” Winston was Hillary Coulter’s brother.

“She moved to the city about a month ago.”

“Where was she before?”

“Chicago for about four years. She separated from her husband a year ago and seemed to be having a hard time getting her life restarted. Hillary convinced her to move here, and she’s staying with us until she gets back on her feet.”

“What is it you need from me?”

“Help with the getting-on-her-feet part. I know you’re good at that sort of thing. She needs a guiding hand with everything from getting an apartment to buying a vehicle to investing and making the right connections. And, of course, whatever else you think she might need.”

“I’d be happy to do that.”

“She also needs help with her divorce.”

“Does she not have a lawyer already?”

“She does, back in Chicago, but both Hillary and I think he sees her as a cash cow and has been more interested in bleeding money from her than finalizing the divorce.”

“I know just the person who can help her. Herb Fisher. You’ve met him a few times, I believe.”

“I have. Seems like a smart guy. But if I may be honest, I would be more comfortable if you handle it yourself.”

“Trust me. Herb is Woodman & Weld’s best lawyer for this. He handles all my clients’ divorce cases. Sara will be in excellent hands.”

“All right. I’ll trust your judgment.”

“You won’t be disappointed. Tell me a little about Sara. I’m guessing she’s well-off.”

“Even more than you think. Her parents were killed in a car accident in Germany when she was only thirteen. She has no siblings, so she inherited their estates. She’s also Winston and his wife’s only grandchild and thus only heir. Their fortune puts my wife’s to shame.”

Hillary Coulter’s worth was now approaching five hundred million dollars.

Stone knew this because he had helped the Coulters invest a large portion of her money with Triangle Investments, a firm started by Stone, Mike Freeman, and Charley Fox, a former Goldman Sachs employee with a laser-sharp mind.

Jack’s more modest, yet still significant, assets were also with Triangle.

“I’ll make sure she’s in good hands all around,” Stone said.

“Thank you, Stone. I knew we could count on you.”

“Happy to help. I do have a question though.”

“Yes?”

“Does she know about your … ?”

“Old life? Not a thing, and I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Then she won’t hear it from me.”

They spent the rest of their lunch in pleasant conversation.

As they were getting ready to leave, Jack handed Stone one of his calling cards.

Written on the back was the name Sara Hirschy and a phone number.

“That’s her cell. I’ll let her know to expect your call. I’ll be traveling out of the country at the end of the week. Not sure exactly when I’m leaving yet, but I should be reachable if you need me.”

“Are you and Hillary taking a vacation?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m going alone to London to visit an old friend who’s not doing so well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“As am I. But I guess that’s what happens to your friends when you reach my age.”

“I’m not sure if you’d be interested or not, but I’m flying to the U.K. on Friday morning and returning on Monday. Plenty of room on my jet, if you’d like to join me.”

Jack looked pleasantly surprised.

“I would indeed. Thank you.”

“We’ll be leaving at ten a.m., from Teterboro. I’ll have Joan send you the information.”

They rose and left together.

Brady Carter entered Café Chelsea and approached the hostess.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Do you have a reservation?”

He craned his neck to scan the restaurant beyond her.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”

“Name?”

He spotted his friend at one of the tables.

“Never mind. I see him.”

As he entered the dining area, two men walked toward him, on their way out.

There was something familiar about the older guy.

Carter couldn’t help but feel like he knew him.

The second guy he’d never seen before.

He was sure of that.

As the two men passed, the name Johnny popped into Carter’s head.

He almost said it out loud, but right before he did, a last name joined the first, and his mouth clamped shut.

Johnny Fratelli.

“Be right back,” he said to his waiting friend, then turned and followed the two men outside.

They had stopped on the sidewalk to shake hands and say goodbye, and soon were heading in different directions.

Carter still wasn’t sure if the old guy was Fratelli.

It had been years since Carter had last seen him, but the man looked a lot like him.

The problem was the nose.

It wasn’t the one he remembered Johnny sporting.

But then again, noses could be changed.

Once the two men were out of sight, he called his brother.

“Do you remember a few years ago someone was looking around for Johnny Fratelli?” he asked.

“Fratelli? Jeez, I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“Do you remember or not?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Who was it?”

“Hell, I don’t know.”

“Think. This is important.”

The line went silent for a few seconds.

“It was that Ricky guy, wasn’t it?”

“That’s it! Ricky Gennaro. Didn’t he offer a reward for anyone who found him?”

“I think so, though I don’t remember how much.”

“Do you know if he ever found Fratelli?”

“How would I know that?”

“Forget it. Thanks, man.”

“Hey, wait. Why are you askin’? Did you find Fratelli?”

Carter grinned and said, “See you at Mom’s this weekend,” then hung up.