“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, andCharley 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 Chelseaand 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 nameJohnnypopped 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.
