Everyone Belongs to Someone

I typed back with both thumbs. Send them to Conference Room C. No one comes to the 47th floor without my personal authorization.

Then I called Victor. He answered on the second ring, because Victor Moreno had been my attorney for eleven years and believed sleep was a weakness.

“Daniel,” he said. “Someone dead, bankrupt, or married?”

“Maybe all three. I need you at the Wellington in ten minutes.”

“It’s after midnight.”

“That’s why I said ten, not five.”