Unnatural Acts (Stone Barrington 23)

“Well, maybe for a second or two,” Kerry admitted. “She was really something.”

“Yeah,” Dino said, “she was. See you, Kerry.” He hung up and waved at a waitress for another cup of coffee.

3

Stone got a call from Bill Eggers at ten.

“Stone, we’ve got a client who needs the sort of attention that you’ve given our clients in the past.”

“What’s his problem?” Stone asked.

“We’re having lunch with him at the Four Seasons at one o’clock. He’ll explain it to you then.”

“Fine, Bill, see you there.” Stone hung up and reflected on the kind of help he had given to clients of Woodman amp; Weld in the past. His specialty had been to handle the kind of cases the firm did not wish to be seen handling in-house. Now that he was a partner, Stone did not particularly wish to be seen handling those cases himself. However, he could not refuse such a request from Bill Eggers out of hand. There was an etiquette involved here. Stone would have to listen to the client’s problem, then find a way to tell Eggers that he would not handle it. He felt in a strong enough position, now, to tell him to go fuck himself, if necessary. He was responsible for three major additions to the Woodman amp; Weld client list, one of them his late wife’s estate, as well as himself and Peter. He made a decision: if he didn’t want to do it, then the hell with it.

Stone arrived at the Four Seasons, which occupied the ground floor of the iconic Mies van der Rohe design, the Seagram Building, which also housed Woodman and Weld. He walked up the stairs, past the bar, and into the Grill Room, where Eggers’s permanently reserved table sat. Bill was already there, and they shook hands.

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 pr

oblem?”

“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.”