On an Autumn Evening in Manhattan, Fifty Million Dollars Signed Away Eleven Long Years
I dialed Theo Callahan’s direct office line.
“You’re calling early for California,” Theo said.
His voice came through the speaker clear and unhurried.
Behind him I could hear the faint scratch of a drafting pencil on heavy paper.
“I need a fresh set of eyes,” I said.
“I’ve got three blueprints spread across my desk at the moment, but I’ve got time for you, Vivian.
Tell me what’s going on.”
“Spencer has an ex-assistant named Brielle Foster,” I said.
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