Page 155 of The 6:20 Man

CHAPTER

67

THEY PARKED ACROSS FROM THE brownstone.

“That’s Chilton’s BMW in front,” observed Devine.

“I’ve known Christian since we were kids. He’s not some criminal.”

“He told me he’s running Mayflower. His grandfather started it, and he’s his generation’s representative. What do you remember about his father and grandfather?”

“Mr. Chilton was a decent guy. Always nice to me. Christian’s grandfather, Poppy Chilton, was incredibly kind. He would play games with us and read to us. Those were really happy times.”

“And they had money?”

“Oh yeah. Lots.”

“A ton of it? I mean, like Cowl?”

“No, not like that. They . . . they actually had to let my parents go when I was sixteen. The cars had dwindled down to just two. My dad didn’t just work on the cars, he would chauffeur them around, too. The kids had grown up, of course, and my mother acted as a housekeeper and such. But I guess they couldn’t afford her anymore, either.”

“So they ran into hard times?”

“The year after we left, the Chiltons had to sell their home. It was a big estate, but old, outside of Boston. Before we left, I remember overhearing Mr. Chilton a couple of times talk about bankruptcy. My older sister was in college by then. My younger sister and me and our parents moved to an apartment in another part of Massachusetts. My parents got other jobs. I did some local modeling gigs and worked as a waitress until I went off to college for a year.”

“Surprised your parents could afford that.”

“They couldn’t. The Chiltons had started college funds for us. I burned through one year and then decided it wasn’t for me, and I didn’t like wasting money.”

“Christian said his dad died.”

“In a car accident two years ago. His mother lives in Boston, or she did. I haven’t seen her for several years.”

“How old is Christian? I had him pegged at thirty.”

“No, he’s only three years older than me. He was at Princeton when the family money totally ran out. But he had a full lacrosse scholarship. He’s very smart. He has two younger brothers. They’re on the West Coast and doing their own thing. But Christian stayed on the East Coast.”

“And now he’s running Mayflower and living in a big brownstone owned by the Locust Group, who paid a lot more for it than it’s worth, and he’s hanging out with guys on Interpol watch lists. And apparently making a lot of money after the family lost almost everything around six years ago.”

“It doesn’t look good, I know.”

“Not good at all.”

“There he is,” hissed Montgomery.

Chilton had walked out of the brownstone. He got into his BMW and drove off.

Devine and Montgomery pulled into traffic behind him.

Let’s see where you’re going, thought Devine.

It didn’t take long. The BMW turned into a posh assisted living center. It was located in an old brick building that took up half the block.

They waited for Chilton to go inside and then followed.

The place looked like an upscale hotel. As Devine glanced around, he saw elderly residents in wheelchairs and walkers. Some were reading in what looked to be the library; others were watching TV. Still others were just sitting and gazing off or slowly walking around.

Montgomery caught sight of Chilton walking down a hall and grabbed Devine’s arm to alert him, before Chilton disappeared around the corner.