But one of his great strengths, I think, is that he’s able to let go of a loss. It’s something that eluded me in my own professional life. I wore my defeats on my sleeve, no matter how trivial.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he says. “I thought we were meeting at my office.” He grins. “Did you come all the way down here just to tell me that you told me so?”

I want to tell him that Lauren’s death is the reason for our change of plan, but this is not the time or the place for such a heavy discussion. So I force a smile and act as if nothing is amiss.

“I had to visit Gabriel for something, so I was just down the street anyway. I thought I’d watch the motion before lunch. But, just so you know . . . I told you so.”

My father explains that he had made a reservation for us to have lunch at Cipriani, which is among the priciest restaurants in midtown. But because we’re already downtown, he suggests that we go to Cipriani’s downtown location, which is also among the priciest restaurants in the neighborhood. It’s about a ten-minute walk from the courthouse, but my father keeps a car and driver waiting, so we’re chauffeured there.

The hostess frowns when my father tells her that we’re there without a reservation. Looking past her, I can see why. There’s not a single empty table.

“Tell Ricardo that Clint Broden is here, and I’ve brought my daughter.”

The hostess turns to do as requested. She returns a few minutes later with a man by her side. He’s about my father’s age, with silver hair and a regal bearing.

“Welcome, Mr. Broden,” the man says. “Please follow me to your table.”

I assume the man leading us through the restaurant is not the aforementioned Ricardo, because my father doesn’t address him by name. Whoever he is, he finds a spot for us in the center of the restaurant at a table that I would swear wasn’t empty a moment ago.

As soon as we’re seated, a waiter comes over and hands us each a flute of champagne. “Compliments of Ricardo,” he says.

“Who’s Ricardo?” I ask after the waiter leaves.

“A man who knows how to repay a favor,” my father says.

My father hasn’t detected that anything’s off with me, but he’s never been particularly attuned to my moods. He has also been cut off from the outside world for the last hour or so. One of the post-9/11 rules is that you can’t bring any electronic devices inside the federal courthouse, which means he doesn’t know yet that Lauren Wright has been murdered.