“Jacqueline Clavette. An old acquaintance. From a past life.” Ted didn’t want to say more until he was sure of his facts.

“And?” Lester wasn’t going to let it go.

“Her name was on the original file that Richie showed me.” Ted was positive that he’d seen it in that brief moment almost a week earlier, but he had not registered any other pertinent information—like whom she was representing. “And she was at the courthouse yesterday. I saw her just before we found that butchered file.”

“Sounds like a stretch,” Lester said.

Ted silently agreed. Was he trying to tie her to this case out of spite? Could it be that simple? Bitter, angry man accuses old rival of high crimes. “Tomorrow we’ve got the auctions—to meet these Corona Partners people. As soon as we’re done, I want you back to Miller with a one-page agreement that I’ll draw up tonight.” There wasn’t time to run it by his trusty landlord/lawyer/tax advisor, Israel. “Get a notary to go with you. Have Anora witness it, too, if the notary agrees. If Miller seems competent to the notary, we can get it by a judge. If not, we lose. But if we do nothing, we lose, so it’s worth the trip.”

A yellow cab cut in front of them, filling a break in traffic the size of a Midtown parking space. Mohammed leaned on his horn, screamed something in Arabic in a way that sounded like he meant it, and flipped the cabbie a middle finger. Ted approved of this cultural assimilation.

“What’s the document?” Lester asked. “Power of attorney?”

“No. That would be too easy to challenge. It’s a simple agreement to allow me to pursue her interests in the abandoned funds.”

For the briefest moment, the traffic looked ready to surge. Mohammed hit the gas and a second later slammed on the brake. Ted rocked forward and bounced back. Lester braced himself with his feet against the seat in front of him.

“Okeydokey?” Mohammed called over his shoulder.

“Fine and dandy,” Ted said. “You’re doing a great job, my friend. Just get us there.”

Mohammed grinned at him in the mirror, hit the gas, and swerved into the left lane, gaining three car lengths on the yellow cab.

“Mohammed,” Ted called to the back of the driver’s head, “how do I get hold of you if I ever need a ride?”

“No problem,” he said, producing a business card with a magician’s flourish.

Ted tucked it into his wallet and turned to Lester. “Once you have the signed document, I want you to run it to the courthouse.” If he gave it to Mr. Ortiz, it would sit on his desk until Monday.

“But suppose this other lawyer—the ‘girl’—has already filed,” Lester said.