Stone wanted to remind her that it had been an unpleasant and abusive marriage for years, but he uncharacteristically managed to sense the obvious, that she was in no mood to talk. He shrugged. She stood up, and he stood up with her. She walked around the table, gave him a light, sweet kiss on the lips, then walked out of the restaurant. As she made her way through the tiny vestibule, one man flattened himself against the wall to let her pass, while another held the outside door open for her. Stone could see a cab waiting with the rear door standing open; she got into it and rode away down Second Avenue into what had become a blowing snowstorm. The two men entered the restaurant and walked toward Stone. The taller of the two was Bill Eggers, his law school buddy and currently the managing partner of the prestigious law firm of Woodman & Weld, to which Stone was of counsel, which meant that he was hired to handle the cases the firm did not wish to be seen to handle.

The other man was a stranger, shorter, heftier and squarershaped than Eggers. Stone did not know him but presumed he was the client Eggers wanted him to meet with.

“Evening, Stone,” Eggers said, shaking his hand. “This is our client, Warren Keating.”

Stone shook the man’s hand and offered them both a chair. “How do you do?” he said.

“Ordinarily I do very well,” the man said, sitting down, “but . . .”

“Warren has a problem I think you can help him with,” Eggers interrupted.

“I hope so,” Stone replied. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Scotch,” Keating replied quickly. “Laphroaig, if they have it.”

“Two,” Eggers said.

“They have it,” Stone replied, lifting an eyebrow in the direction of a waiter, who scurried over and took their order.

“And another for me,” Stone said, tossing off the remainder of his bourbon.

Eggers looked sharply at Stone but didn’t comment.

“How can I help you, Mr. Keating?” Stone asked.

“It’s Warren,” the man said. “I . . .”

“Do you mind if I sum this up for you, Warren?” Eggers said, interrupting again.

Stone reflected that Eggers did not interrupt clients without a good reason.

“All right, Bill,” Keating said wearily.

“Warren runs a multigenerational family business,” Eggers began.

“Elijah Keating’s Sons,” Keating said. “My great-grandfather started it when he got home from the Civil War.”

Stone nodded, but he had never heard of it.

“This is not what you would call a mom-and-pop business,” Eggers continued. “The company manufactures industrial equipment and tooling; they operate nineteen factories around the world.”

“We’ve run out of Elijah Keating’s sons,” Keating said. “My only son is the most recent generation, and he . . . has no interest in coming into the business. I’m getting on, and I’m weary of the travel involved in running a worldwide operation.”