The drive into Manhattan took close to an hour; the marshals didn’t bother with lights or siren, which might have earned them ten or fifteen minutes. Ted was relieved they didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry. When the car turned uptown on Third after exiting the Midtown Tunnel, Ted was both relieved and confused. This was not the way to the feds’ offices. In a few blocks, the woman cut over to Park Avenue and continued uptown. Ted had an odd premonition that soon became reality as they slowed and made a U-turn in the midfifties.

“Why are we here?” Ted asked.

The driver shot him an angry look in the rearview mirror. “Because someone with major juice wants you here. This is not SOP.”

The SUV pulled over in front of a building Ted knew well. The law offices of Hasting, Fitzmaurice, and Barson took up most of five floors. After a quick phone consultation, the marshals led Ted to the firm’s private dining room on the topmost floor.

The Judge met them at the elevator.

“Thank you both for your service,” he oozed. “This is all quite unusual, I am sure. The deputy director is an old friend, you understand. He is doing me a great personal favor.”

Ted could see that the marshals didn’t understand—or care. But they didn’t like it either.

“Please remove the handcuffs. I will be needing Mr. Molloy for approximately an hour. Two at the most. If you don’t mind waiting?” The Judge held up an index finger, and Oliver, the sole waiter, joined them. “Can we get these hardworking officers something to eat? Sandwiches? Have them delivered out to their car, would you?”

The Judge smiled at the marshals. They were dismissed. They didn’t like that either, but they retreated into the elevator.

“Ted,” the Judge cried, feigning surprise, as though Ted’s presence were the work of some second-rate magician. “Thank you for joining us. This way, please.” He took Ted’s arm and guided him into the dining room. There was no one else present. This was unusual but not unique. Lowly associates and junior partners never ate there unless invited by more senior members of the firm. And as everyone from summer intern to department head was billing for every eight-minute unit of time, very few people showed up in the dining room unless they were accompanied by a client. When Ted was with the firm, he had eaten there exactly once—the day that Jill’s father had welcomed him to the firm.

“Have a seat,” the Judge said “No, not there. There. Much better. Our client has a preference, you see. And keeping the client happy is always our first priority.”

Ted took the proffered chair. “And here I thought respect for the law was what the firm was all about.”