“How about redundant?”

“Nailed it. Captain Redundant.”

She kind of liked Donny. Except for the stubble and the white lie about expecting a guy, he seemed genuine, comfortable in his skin. She tried to make nice-nice.

“I like these old places,” she said, looking around. “They’ve got character.”

“This one’s got some history. Back in the fifties and sixties it was divided into apartments—one to a floor. Then a psychiatrist named Gates bought it and totally restored it. He lived here until just a couple of years ago when he blew a hole through his head in Times Square. Nobody knows why but there must have been something hinky going on because he left the place to one of his patients.”

“I guess you’d call that a close doctor-patient relationship.”

“I guess, right? Anyway, the patient had an accident here and didn’t want to stay, so she put it up for sale almost immediately. Art came along and snapped it up.”

Right on cue, a slim, olive-skinned man of about forty descended the stairs and thrust out his hand.

“Arthur Palaez.”

Hari introduced herself, and Arthur—“call me Art”—offered coffee which Hari could not refuse. The meeting would go much more smoothly if she was properly caffeinated. She told Donny she took it black. As he went off to make some fresh, she followed Art as he bounded up the stairs to the second floor.

“When you said you couldn’t come to my office,” Hari said, puffing, “I assumed you were disabled in some way.”

“I am,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple. “Agoraphobia. I totally flip out if I have to leave the house. I do so only for the direst emergencies. But tell me about you. Indian? Pakistani? Bangladeshi?”

Seriously?

“Han Chinese—pure bred.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

Oh, hell. “My grandparents were from Mumbai. Does it matter?”

“I just like to be aware so I don’t tread on any cultural differences.”

“I’ll take a load off your mind: I’m American. Born and raised in Mineola.”

“I guess I was also asking because Tate isn’t exactly a Mumbai-ish name.”

“I took it from Mister Tate when we married and kept if after he left. Fits a lot better on a business card that Mukhopadhyay.”

Art cringed a little. “I’ll say.”

My turn.

“As long as we’re being all ethno-sensitive, you’re a Spaniard, I take it?”

“Asturian, to be precise. It’s a little principality in the—”

Hari waved a hand. “‘Spain’ is good enough.” She looked around at nearly a dozen flat screen monitors of various sizes arrayed under the fifteen-foot ceiling, all dancing with graphs and banners except for Fox Business News on one, CNBC on another, Bloomberg on still another. “So why does a day trader—I’m assuming that’s your game—need a forensic accountant?”

He indicated a chair and they both seated themselves.

“I’m interested in the activities of a very small brokerage house called Sedam.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Neither has anyone else. They have only one client: The Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order Foundation.”