Stone needed to keep his wits about him, so he ordered San Pellegrino mineral water. “So, Bill, who’s the client and what’s his problem?”

“The client is Marshall Brennan,” he said, “of the Brennan Group.”

Stone didn’t need the firm name; everybody on the planet with a room-temperature IQ knew who Marshall Brennan was and, apparently, was anxious to invest in his hedge fund, which controlled a growing list of diversified companies, everything from hotel and restaurant chains to industrial and high-tech companies. Stone had seen the man across crowded rooms but had never met him. “And what’s his problem?”

“Ah,” Eggers said, “here he is now.” He stood up to greet his client. “Good afternoon, Marshall. I’d like you to meet our partner, Stone Barrington.”

Stone shook the man’s hand and observed that he was wearing a faded, wash-and-wear suit and a bad necktie and was carrying a cheap plastic briefcase, this from a multibillionaire.

“I hope you’ve been well,” Eggers said. “And Ethel, too.”

“Yes, we’re both well, Bill. And, Stone, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been following with interest your progress with the new hotel in Bel-Air.”

Stone’s son had inherited from his mother an eighteen-acre property in Bel-Air, Los Angeles, and Stone was a lead investor in the project to build a new, ultra-luxury-class hotel there.

“Thank you, Marshall, it seems to be going well. We broke ground last fall, and the old Vance Calder house is being turned into the reception area, with an addition for offices. Construction has begun on the cottages and rooms, too.”

“What’s your grand opening date?” Brennan asked.

“Probably early next year. I don’t think we can make Christmas, unless things go faster than planned.”

“My people have had a lot of experience in hotels, so let me know if I can be of any help.”

“Thank you, Marshall, that’s kind of you.”

They ordered lunch, then Eggers sat back in his chair. “Stone, Marshall’s youngest son, Dink, has gotten himself into a bit of a mess.”

“Oh?” Stone couldn’t wait to hear this.

“He’s at Yale—in Peter’s class—and he has acquired a bit of a gambling problem.”

“How much of a problem?” Stone asked.

“About two hundred thousand dollars’ worth,” Brennan interjected, “to a bookie and loan shark.”

“Is he able to pay it?” Stone asked.

“Of course not,” Brennan replied, “but the bookie knows I can pay it.”

“Do you intend to pay it?” Stone asked.

“That depends a lot on the advice I get from you. Bill tells me you’ve dealt with people like this in the past.”

“I was a police officer for fourteen years,” Stone replied. “I dealt with all sorts of people, some of whom were unable or unwilling to pay their gambling and loan debts.”

“What happened to those who couldn’t or wouldn’t pay?”

“Unpleasant things,” Stone said. “I’ve rarely known a bookie or a loan shark to kill people, because the dead can’t pay their debts, but quite often such people required medical attention after negotiations failed.”