Harlan looked intrigued. “May I ask who your family friend is?”
I made a show of hesitating. “He values his discretion, so I hate to use his name outright. But as I mentioned, his father and Jeff’s father were close.” I lowered my voice. “Until our friend’s father met with an unfortunate end.”
Harlan listened, not giving anything away.
“Our friend’s mother still dabbles in the family business,” I added, “but she leaves most of it to her son.” I tilted my head. “I don’t know how interested he is in development projects, per se, but he does have a penchant for warehouses.” I shrugged. “He likes to use hard-to-trace corporations to purchase or lease them.”
Harlan’s face went slack for a second before he recovered. “I see.”
“In any case,” I went on, “rumor has it you did business with his father before his tragic and violent demise.”
“Did you hear this from your family friend?” he asked, his voice measured.
“Heavens, no,” I said with a small laugh. “He’s much too discreet to share that kind of information. But I did hear it from someone close to the family, someone in a position to know.”
He nodded slowly again, as though weighing his options. “Yes. If we’re talking about the same family, then I have done business with both father and son, and I know exactly how much they value discretion.” He added. “Religiously.”
I refused to let myself get excited just yet.
Pushing out a relieved sigh, I pressed my hand on my chest. “Oh, that is good news.”
I was about to ask a follow-up question, but James beat me to it.
“Amber, don’t be a fool,” he sneered. “We can’t take his word. He’s given us no proof he knows who you’re even referring to. He’s only agreeing with whatever you say.”
“Jeff,” Harlan said in a placating tone. “I’m sure you understand that some clients prefer to keep their names private. Just like I suspect you prefer a bit of anonymity yourself.” His smile sharpened slightly. “Especially with … special, creative projects.”
James was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he said at last. “You’re correct.” He sat up a little, “But I’d still like confirmation we’re talking about the same family.”
Harlan hesitated, “I’m not sure?—”
“How about a compromise?” I said sweetly, glancing at James before turning back to Harlan. “What if you tell us the first letter of their last name? That can’t be too damning. There could be thousands of names starting with the same letter.”
Harlan pressed his lips together, then asked, “Jeff, will that appease you?”
James seemed to consider it, then gave a sharp nod.
Harlan drew in a breath, as if he needed to summon the courage. “K.”
I beamed. “Oh. That is most fortunate.”
Harlan sagged back in his chair with visible relief. “Since I’ve done work with your family friends, what do you say we get this contract signed?” He gestured to the PowerPoint slide on the screen. “I can whip up a contract in a matter of minutes.”
“Not so fast,” James said. “There’s one more thing we need to discuss.”
Harlan pasted on a polite smile. “Of course. What would you like to know?”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
Harlan blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You said you spend your money on toys instead of your office.” He tipped his chin to the worn desk. “So what’s the toy? What do you drive?”
A smug grin spread across Harlan’s face. “I’ve got a Maserati Ghibli at home, but my Porsche 911 Carrera S is here.” He jerked his thumb toward the back of the building.
“I call bullshit,” James said, his voice dripping contempt. “I didn’t see a Porsche when we pulled in.”
“That’s because it’s out back.” Harlan stood, went to the window beside his desk, and lifted the blind.
