“I am delighted to accept,” Stone said.

“You’ll always have first call on the Mustang,” Freeman said. “If you’d like your old tail number on the Mustang, we’ll have the change made for you.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m also happy to tell you that I am assigning the remainder of all our legal work to Woodman & Weld, where we would like you to join Bill Eggers in supervising it.”

“Thank you very much, Mike. Have you told Bill yet?”

“We spoke on the phone this morning; he was very pleased.”

The car drew up in front of Strategic Services’ building on East Fifty-seventh Street.

“The car will take you back to your office,” Freeman said. “By the way, would you like an office in our building?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Stone said.

“We’ll reserve my old office for you, on the occasions when you’re in the building,” Freeman said.

The two men shook hands, and the car took Stone home.

Stone went into his office and sank into his chair. He had just had the best twenty-four hours of his life, and he was still stunned. He was now a stockholder of Strategic Services, he had a new airplane, and he had not only his bonus of the night before but he would have cash for the sale of his old airplane to the company. What more could he ask for in this lifetime?

The phone rang, and Joan buzzed him. “Bill Eggers,” she said.

Stone picked up the phone. “Hello, Bill.”

“I had a call from Mike Freeman this morning,” Eggers said.

“I heard.”

“Then you know we’re getting all their business?”

“I heard.”

“You and I will work closely to supervise it,” Eggers said.

“I heard.”

“And I hear you have a new airplane.”

“I heard.”

“Is that all you can say?”

Stone sighed. “Bill, I can hardly speak. I’m just letting it all sink in.”

“You do that,” Eggers said, and hung up.

Stone buzzed Joan.

“Yes?”

“Please book me a table at Elaine’s at nine.”

“I’m afraid you have plans for this evening.”

“What?”

“It’s Herbie Fisher’s wedding reception at the Hotel Pierre, at seven, dinner to follow.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes, and remember, Herbie is your second-biggest client.”

Stone groaned. Herbie Fisher was a royal pain in the ass, one of those unfortunate people who never did anything right. Herbie had won a big number in the lottery a while back and had offered Stone a million-dollar retainer to handle all his legal affairs. Stone had been in a financial bind at the time, and in a weak moment he had accepted the money. “How much would it cost me to buy my way out of representing him?” he asked Joan.

“You couldn’t afford it,” Joan said, and hung up.

THREE

Stone arrived at the Pierre late and, consulting the list of private rooms, was surprised to see that Herbie’s wedding reception was in the Grand Ballroom. Stone made his way there and found an acquaintance, Peter Duchin, at the piano, leading a full orchestra. He stopped by the bandstand.