“I don’t think she has. Richie would have found it. Talk to the judge’s clerk, and try to get a read, but I think we may have an edge here.”

“But if the ‘girl’ has a signed agreement, won’t that predate yours? As soon as she does file, she’ll blow your paper out of the water.”

“New York is a race jurisdiction state.”

“That doesn’t mean what it sounds like, right?”

“Race—like footrace. First to file gets precedence.”

“Ah. But the ‘girl’ must know that. Why hasn’t she filed already?”

“That’s a very good question, Lester. It goes to intent. Suppose that keeping a secret was of greater importance than picking up an extra few bucks.”

“A few bucks? We’re talking a million-two.”

“Which makes it a very big secret, don’t you think?”

-19-

-19-

Cheryl Rubiano was sitting alone at a table for six at the Korean BBQ. She was sipping her way through a large club soda. Ted sat next to her and ordered an OB Lager.

“Are we expecting a crowd?” he asked, indicating the empty seats.

Cheryl’s hair had recently been styled and lacquered into a tall cone. The chorus to “Love Shack” ran through his head. She was wearing full war paint, from foundation to blush to liner. “I have a business dinner. We have half an hour before any of them arrive.”

“That works for me,” he said. “I’ve got a ball game that starts in an hour.”

It was early and the occupied tables all held families—extended families. Grandparents, infants, toddlers, pre- and current teens, smiling wives, and grim-faced husbands kept up an indecipherable background chorus, to the arrhythmic beat of clinking plates and water glasses. Waiters, most of whom looked old enough to be grandfathers themselves, were already harassed and overworked, and the place was still half-empty.

Cheryl called for banchan and then waved the ancient waiter away. “So. Report.”

There was a lot that Ted wasn’t ready to share, a lot that he didn’t know but suspected. “Before I start I have a question for you. That file you gave me. It was only cover pages. Richie had copies of the full court records. When I saw him last, that file was an inch thick.”

“What? You think I’m holding out on you?”

“No.” Though he thought it at least possible. “You said he gave you that file. Did he often do that?”

“Never. He carried everything in that black backpack.”

“So, why? Why this file?”

“He told me to take the file to you and you’d know what to do. He called it his life insurance policy.”

The waiter returned and placed three small bowls on the table. Cucumber kimchi, marinated lotus root, and dried squid.

Ted had never been a fan of kimchi, and cucumber gave him heartburn. He tried the lotus. “And the originals? I mean, his copies. The full records.”