Nathan watched as Frank easily maneuvered up the ramp and through the front door. He was also acutely aware of being studied by Greg. The surveillance was subtle, but steady. Understandable. From what he knew about Greg, the man rode a desk. Nathan hated offices and avoided his own as much as possible. First Security Incorporated was Harv’s deal, and he gave his partner complete freedom to manage everything. Although an equal owner, he had neither the desire nor the temperament to be actively involved in a complex business.

Inside Frank’s home on the left, Nathan saw a small library. On the right, a sitting room with a beige leather sofa and matching love seat. Straight ahead, the kitchen. But what impressed Nathan the most was the stone floor. Staring in amazement, he stopped short of a fifteen-foot reproduction of the official FBI seal. Every aspect of the insignia was intricately re-created in a mosaic of colored stone. Inscribed within the seal were the words  Fidelity  Bravery  Integrity.

A small, elderly woman approached from the kitchen. “Frank spent a fortune on it.”

Mrs. Ortega had shoulder-length silvery-gray hair and a kind, matronly face. Like her husband, she was thin, but not frail. With those oval glasses, she could’ve come directly from baking cookies or reading the Wall Street Journal.

Nathan winced as she strode across the symbol.

“We walk on it all the time,” she said, reading his expression. “It’s the floor, after all. I’m Diane. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McBride.”

She offered her hand. It felt like warm bones in a velvet glove. “Please call me Nathan. This should be in a museum.” In the corner of his eye, he caught Greg shifting his weight. The man was strung tight and could be a problem. Probably would be a problem.

“Harvey,” Diane said.

Harvey bent and kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Diane.”

“Would anyone like tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Nathan said.

Harvey also said no.

“Greg?”

Her son shook his head.

“Let’s talk in the library,” Frank said. He wheeled himself in that direction. His ride had no bells or whistles. It was a seat on wheels, as basic as they come. Nathan reevaluated his earlier assessment of Frank’s grip during their handshake. The man had a powerful grip out of necessity and the firm handshake hadn’t been phony or intended to show off at all. The man simply had strong hands.