He pulled it out. The thing had been handed down in the family since God knows when. His father had told him: “Better keep it. It’s wampum. Supposed to be lucky.”

William shrugged. He could sure as hell use some luck today. On an impulse, he decided to put it on. Under his shirt of course—he didn’t want to look like a damn fool. Then he dressed as usual, every inch the successful man. If he was going down, he’d go down in style.

Anyway, you should never give up hope.

He went downstairs, kissed Rose good-bye, as if this were any other day, and walked out the door.

Joe was waiting there smartly, beside the Rolls.

“Good morning, sir.” Joe opened the door for him.

“Morning, Joe. Fine morning.” Comforted for a moment, he got in. Joe was a good man. He wondered if he’d be employing him much longer. Probably not.

As they went down Fifth, he gazed out at the park. A sprinkling of daffodils and crocuses had appeared on the grass.

He’d told Charlie he wouldn’t be needed in the office today. He didn’t want to see anyone except the chief clerk. That trusted man had been going over the books all through the weekend.

For today was the day of reckoning. It couldn’t be put off any longer. There was a bunch of calls due today that would bring everything to a close. Of course, if the market suddenly had a huge rally, that might make a difference. But the market wasn’t going to rally. In April last year he’d said the Dow would get to 300. It never had. It was only a little more than half that now.

While the chief clerk went over the brokerage accounts that weekend, he’d done the same for his own affairs. Alone in his study, he’d reviewed his remaining assets. He shouldn’t have tried to save the brokerage, of course. Shouldn’t have used his own money to prop it up. Easy to see that now, but at the time, there had always seemed to be hope round the corner. He’d deluded himself that something would turn up. Fact was, he just couldn’t bear the loss of face, couldn’t admit his failure. Couldn’t let go. Too late for that now.

The house would have to go. Hard to say what it would fetch in this market, but it was a hell of a house. A good asset. The Newport house was another matter. Three weeks ago he’d casually asked Rose if she had any of the $600,000 he’d given her left.

“Not a cent, William,” she’d answered with a sweet smile. “Actually, I might need just a little more.”

“The work’s not finished?”

“Not by some way. You know these designers. Well, the builders, too …”