“May I help you, sir?” a salesman asked, covertly noting the customer’s fine clothing.

“I believe,” Menzies said, pointing with his stick, “that is the car with the V-12 engine, is it not?”

“It is, indeed, sir. The world’s finest automobile, in fact.”

“And how much is it?”

The salesman quoted the price. “Plus sales tax, gas-guzzler tax, and luxury tax,” he said.

“I’ll take it,” Menzies said.

The salesman tried not to hyperventilate. This was his second truly breathtaking sale inside of a week; his Christmas bonus was growing quickly.

“Please have a seat at my desk, sir,” the salesman said, “and we’ll complete the paperwork and registration.”

Menzies sat down, answered the man’s questions, and wrote him a check.

Later, on his way back to the Park Avenue apartment, he allowed the joy of freedom and wealth to wash over him. Certainly, years before, he had not planned to commit an act that would send him to prison, but, having lost control of himself on that fateful day, he had planned this outcome for twelve years. It had taken him less than a month to demonstrate his value in the prison offices; it had taken him the mandatory two years to win a small measure of freedom as a trusty; and it had taken him little longer to win the financial trust of Captain Warkowski, the warden, and a number of other prison administrators. He had, in fact, won their devotion by advising them to get out of the stock market shortly before the 1987 Reagan crash. That coup, combined with the bull market of the nineties, had allowed him to increase his wealth tenfold and that of his new clients, as well. Seven years before, with the kind help of Eloise Enzberg, he had had his name legally changed. By the time the governor, on the recommendation of the grateful warden and the parole board, had approved his unconditional release, Mitteldorfer had become the most popular man in Sing Sing.

As he neared his apartment building, he realized that his elation had overwhelmed his good sense. He could not afford to be seen by the doorman wearing brand-new clothing on the day of his wife’s grave illness. He waited around the corner until Jeff had to walk up Park half a block to find a taxi on a cross street for a resident, then he ducked into the building and went up to his apartment.

There he found his computer, which had been delivered and installed in his absence, and his files and records. He went through them carefully, weeding out anything with the name Mitteldorfer on it, shredding the documents before stuffing them into garbage bags. Then he fired up his computer and visited his investments. The market was holding up nicely, he was pleased to see.

He had some lunch, then answered the house phone.