Arthur slowly shook his head.

“Don’t confront him without a lawyer there.”

“He still talks to me when he thinks nobody else is listening,” I said.

The concrete lot behind Sterling Capital’s six-story glass building was quiet when I pulled my old Buick into a visitor space at one fifteen in the afternoon.

An early autumn breeze swept fallen sycamore leaves across the hood.

Patrick came out of the side executive exit carrying his dark leather briefcase.

His gray suit was cut close, his silk tie neatly pinned to his white shirt.