“It’s Stendahl. I’m with our CEO and CFO, and I’m going to put you on the speakerphone.”

“Okay.”

Stendahl’s voice became hollow. “Now, Stone, our people are not willing to enter into this transaction without knowing more about your client and his reasons for making this offer.”

“Frank, gentlemen, client-attorney confidentiality prevents me from telling you any more than I already have about my client’s identity or motives. This is a very simple proposition: I will wire-transfer one million dollars into Boston Mutual’s account in return for a release of criminal and civil liability in the matter of the Paul Manning policy for anyone who ever had anything to do with it.”

Another voice spoke. “This is Morrison, CFO of the company,” it said. “Five million, and that’s our best offer.”

“Mr. Morrison,” Stone said, “I’m doing the offering, and while I’m at it, I’ll give you our last, best offer to settle this matter. One million, five hundred thousand dollars, and that’s it. You have only to accept or reject, but I must tell you, that if you reject this offer, when this phone call is over, you will never hear of this matter again. You simply have to decide whether you’d rather be out twelve million dollars or ten million, five.” Stone stopped talking and waited.

“Hang on,” Stendahl said, and the call went on hold.

Stone waited, tapping his fingers against his glass. If they stood firm, he could always come back with five million later. After all, that’s what Liz Harding had said she would pay.

“We’re back,” Stendahl said.

“This is Shanklin, the CEO of the company,” a new voice said. “We accept, pending a legal review of the form of the release.”

“Give me a fax number,” Stone said, then wrote it down. “Gentlemen, you’ll have the release in five minutes. Sign and fax it to my office, along with your bank account number, and FedEx the original. Upon receipt of the original, I will wire-transfer the funds to your account.”

“We’re waiting,” Stendahl said.

Stone punched off and speed-dialed his office. When Joan answered, he said, “Insert the amount of one million five hundred thousand dollars in the document, print it out and fax it to Stendahl pronto; he’s waiting for it.” He gave her the number, then hung up.

Stone sat and sipped his drink, watching the afternoon grow later. Half an hour later, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Joan. They signed the document and faxed it back to us.”

“Great,” Stone said. He found Juanito, got the yacht’s fax number, gave it to Joan and asked her to fax the document to him, then he called Liz Harding.

“It’s Stone,” he said when she had answered. “I have news.”

“Tell me,” she said.