“Yes, I live in a small cottage on a lovely little estate in Berkshire owned by my stepfather. It’s a short drive to Eton, where the college offered me only a room. Masters get flats or houses. My parents have a house in London, too, and I have a room there.”

“Sounds like you’re well stocked with real estate.”

“Yes. Also, I inherited my father’s house in Palm Beach. I had planned to sell it, but there’s no need to now.”

“Tell me, Laurence,” Dino said, “has Stone given you the lecture yet?”

“You mean, ‘don’t spend it all in one place’?”

Dino smiled. “No. Let me put it this way—you seem like a bright fellow, but do you have any street smarts?”

“London and Berkshire street smarts, yes, New York City street smarts, no—sadly deficient there.”

“New York is a tough town, and I don’t mean the muggers, which we keep under control. I mean predators of a different sort.”

“What sort?”

“All sorts. For instance, though you’re not aware of it yet, there are people around town who are already looking for you.”

Laurence looked alarmed. “What sort of people?”

“They like to call themselves journalists these days, but they’re the same gossipmongers that have been around since newspapers came along. It goes like this—the cabdriver who recognized you probably has such a connection, and he’s made himself fifty or a hundred bucks by telling that connection that the Powerball zillionaire is in town. It would not surprise me if someone offered a reward for news of your whereabouts. You could very well soon be the subject of a manhunt.”

“What an awful thought,” Laurence said. “The London papers are like that, too.”

“In what name did you win the lottery?”

“L. B. Hayward.”

“That won’t throw them off the scent for long,” Dino said. “Is anyone living in your father’s house?”

“No, a cleaning lady comes every day.”

“Prepare to get a call saying the house has been broken into.”

“You think it will be burgled because there’s nobody living there?”

“No, I think some private eye, working for a tabloid, will break in and start looking for evidence of your whereabouts.”

“What sort of evidence?”

“Anything with your name on it—checkbook, your father’s checkbook, family photos, address books—anything. My point is, you’re not going to be anonymous in New York for very long.”

“There’s nothing in the house that would locate me,” Laurence said. “When I left I didn’t have another residence in this country.”

“Might they track you to England with what they find in the house?”

Laurence thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “There are letters from me to my father with my return address on them.”

“We bought the apartments in a corporate name,” Stone said.

Viv spoke up. “That will help. Do you think the real estate agent twigged?”