It was, as was the rest of the apartment, paneled in mahogany, and imposing without being too large. The fireplace was of carved mahogany. “The upholstered furniture is Lauren, the other things, Baker. The books are from the fine-books collection at the Strand, the enormous bookstore downtown. The room is wired for computer use, with a workstation in the corner, there. The entire apartment has high-speed Wi-Fi, and there is a built-in sound system by Sonos that can be operated from an iPhone, plus a four-line office-style telephone system, all of which is housed behind a panel.” She showed them the tech closet, went to the mantelpiece and pulled an embroidered cord next to it. The paneling beside the fireplace slid open, and a bar slid nearly silently into the room, with four stools, stocked with bottles and mixers. She led the way to French doors at the west end of the room, which opened onto a large terrace with a swimming pool and views west to Central Park. “The pool is a very rare thing on the East Side,” she said, “but the original owner of the hotel built this apartment for himself, and he wanted a pool. It has been inspected and is in excellent condition and well supported by steel beams.

“The monthly maintenance fee on the apartment is twenty-five thousand per month, and that includes daily maid and linen service, room service, concierge service, and parking. The apartment comes with two parking spaces in the underground garage. Have you any other questions?”

“I don’t think so,” Laurence said. “May we have a moment to talk?”

“Of course.” She handed him a leather-bound book. “This is a list of the furnishings with the prices of each piece and phone numbers of the furnishers.”

Stone and Laurence sat down in facing, cushioned armchairs. “What do you think?” Stone asked.

“It’s perfect, once I sort through the furnishings.”

“I suggest you offer eighteen million, with a closing tomorrow.”

“Do you think they’ll take that?”

“The apartments went on sale nine months ago, and as I said, are sold out. Your position is good. Will you allow me to make the offer? You can be the good cop.”

Laurence smiled. “Certainly. I think I’d like the apartment downstairs, too,” he said.

“We’ll offer two million for that?”

“Good.”

“And they’re asking twenty-two million for the penthouse. Shall we offer twenty million for the two?”

Stone rang the agent’s cell phone, and she reappeared. “Please join us,” Stone said, standing and offering her a chair.

“We will be brief, Ms. Gotham. Mr. Hayward would like to offer twenty million for the two apartments, all cash, to close tomorrow before noon. He is not inclined to offer more. He will deal directly with the furnishers.”