“He announced his resignation from the firm on Friday. They asked him to pack up on the spot. Catherine’s here today taking care of his files, but she’ll be gone tomorrow. We’re redirecting his clients to other partners, so if you tell me what you needed to see him about we can figure out who the best person to help you would be.”

I studied my nails for a moment, wondering whether to ask for Dick or Todd Pichea. The effect would be electric, but what would I gain from it?

I got up. “Freeman’s been handling my affairs for so many years I wouldn’t feel comfortable working with anyone else. Why don’t you just take me back to Catherine?”

She twisted a strand of hair around a finger. “We’re really not supposed to—”

I smiled firmly. “Why don’t you just take me to Catherine?”

“I think I need to talk to my boss about it first.” She whisked back inside the doors that led to the firm’s offices.

I waited about thirty seconds and followed her. Since I’d never been here before I didn’t know where Freeman’s office might lie. I picked the right-hand corridor at random and walked through the ankle-deep carpet, poking my head into offices and conference rooms. I passed lots of myrmidons laden down with files and computer printouts, but none who knew anything about Freeman Carter.

Crawford, Mead was renting four floors of the building. I came at one point to a private stairwell connecting the floors on the inside. Like the rest of the place it was heavily coated in wood and plush. It seemed weird to me—you buy space in the most modern of glass towers, and then cover it with wood and velvet to make it seem like an ancient courthouse.

When I got to the second floor I finally found an assistant somebody who could direct me to Freeman’s office. The general interdict on giving information to clients apparently had only been issued to the frontline troops. Freeman was—had been—at the far end of the floor we were on. I followed the woman’s directions with only a few missteps and finally found Catherine Gentry stuffing files into packing boxes.

“Vic!” She dropped what she was holding and wiped her hands on her jeans. I’d never seen her out of the severely tailored clothes she thought necessary for her job, or with her hair falling in wisps around her face. I wouldn’t have recognized her on the street.

“Catherine! What’s going on here? They act like Freeman ran off with the company pension fund.”