I stopped midthought. Oops.

But Anna seemed completely at ease. “Go on, Kate,” she said. “Since I have money . . . ?”

“There’s no end to what you can do here.” I checked the clock by our bed. Late, so late. “Maybe we could speak more later?”

“Not necessary. You see, the truth is . . . ?”

“Yes?”

“You more than answered my questions.”

“I did?”

The signal momentarily faded.

“Kate, can you hear me? You know this isn’t . . . connection. Look, I’ll call ag—sometime. Soon.”

Until Teddy was born, I worked with Bruno at the Foundation for an Ethical Future. We were a ragtag, indefatigable bunch of futurists. We were never about predicting what would happen. We merely tried to imagine what could. Our work was to help our clients “rehearse” their responses to a variety of possible futures. As our fearless leader, Bruno had the idea to use the scenario-creating techniques developed by the RAND Corporation in the 1950s that had been modified for business purposes by Royal Dutch/Shell after the 1973 oil embargo. Bruno’s genius was to apply these same techniques to various nonprofits. We didn’t have much money, but we had the belief that these organizations and community groups (the Vera Institute of Justice, the Eliot Feld Ballet, etc.) were as important as weapons of mass destruction and our addiction to oil, and, more important, we had that most underrated and essential of currencies—the belief that we were right.

When I arrived at Siggy’s Good Food on Henry Street, I looked right past the bone-thin man waving in my direction. I was embarrassed about not recognizing Bruno right away. But he didn’t look well. His cheeks were hollow, and he was much too skinny. Still, he smiled as I sat down. “Pictures, please,” he said.

I brought out the pocket-size photo album I carried of the boys. Bruno fawned over each picture, noting that Teddy looked just like Tim, and Sam had some of me.

I asked if he was well.

“Better now that I’m with you.” He paused, but not long enough for me to ask what was up with his health. “Kate, question: Have you heard of Louis Underfer?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Have you heard of Cortez?”

“The conquistador?”

“No, the corporation.”

“Sorry,” I said. “But I’m well versed in Barney and Big Bird.”

Bruno laughed faintly, took my hands, and said, “I want to make this as easy as possible for you.” He had just returned from his fortieth high school reunion in Webster Groves, Missouri, where he had reconnected with his childhood adversary, Louis Underfer, the billionaire founder/CEO of Cortez.

“Google him, and you’ll learn more than you need to know. Anyway, Louis is almost as rich as he is guilty. Which is good for us.”

Bruno went on to explain that during the reunion barbecue, in front of several former classmates, he had attacked Louis about the dangerous and irresponsible actions of giant corporations like Cortez, accusing them all of “careless disregard for the children and the children’s children.” Louis walked away in a huff, but apparently, Bruno had gotten under his skin, because Bruno said proudly, “He called me when I got to New York and offered me a job. I hung up. When he called back, I said, ‘Why should I work for you?’ And this is what he said: ‘You’re right, Bruno. I’m a blessed man. I can do more, but I need your help. Make me better.’”