Hot Mahogany (Stone Barrington 15)

“I forgot to ask. See you later.”

Five minutes later, Stone got out of a cab at the Seagram Building on Park Avenue at Fifty-second Street, where the law firm of Woodman amp; Weld occupied four high floors.

Woodman amp; Weld was often referred to as the gold standard of New York law firms, with a reputation for high-quality legal services, solid integrity and complete discretion. Every law firm, however, has clients and cases with whom it would prefer not to be publicly associated, and for that reason W amp;W employed Stone. He and Bill Eggers had been classmates at NYU Law School, and when Stone had been invalided out of the NYPD, Eggers had brought him aboard.

Stone got off the elevator, and the receptionist didn’t even speak, just waved him in the direction of the corner office of the managing partner.

Stone rapped lightly on the door, opened it and stuck his head in. “Good morning?”

“Stone!” Eggers said, rising from his chair. His companion did not rise. “Come in, come in! I want you to meet someone.”

At this, the other man rose. He was of medium height and build, wearing a very good suit but somehow unprepossessing. He was bald, with a fringe of blond hair, and wore rimless spectacles. Stone knew who he was immediately.

“Stone, this is Harlan Deal. Harlan, this is my colleague, Stone Barrington.”

Stone shook Deal’s hand. His grip was firm and cool, but his demeanor was dour. He looked as though he had not slept well for some time. “How do you do, Mr. Deal,” Stone said.

“Hello,” Deal replied. “Please call me Harlan; everybody does.”

What most people called him, Stone reflected, was The Deal. Harlan Deal had inherited a portfolio of grimy real estate in the nether regions of the Bronx and Queens and had turned it into a giant holding company, called Real Deal, with a worldwide reach. It was a great American success story, but Deal, personally, remained low-powered socially. He contributed to good causes, even had his own foundation for that purpose, but he was not high on the dinner-party list of anyone who did not wish to borrow money from him. There were stories of dinner partners who had not heard him speak during a five-course meal.

“Sit down, Stone,” Eggers said. “Harlan has a little problem that I think you might be able to help him with.”

“Well, I’ll certainly try,” Stone replied.

“Heh, heh,” Eggers chortled. “I think you’ll find, Harlan, that Stone’s efforts are of a very high order.”

Stone stared at Eggers. What was he promising this guy? Stone had no clue as to why he was there. “Well, Bill,” he said, “let’s hear about the problem before we start making promises. Perhaps Mr. Deal will tell me about it.”

“Harlan,” Deal replied.

“Of course, Harlan, and please call me Stone.”

“What sort of work do you do, Mr. Barrington?”

“I’m an attorney, of counsel to Woodman and Weld.”

“Of counsel? What does that mean, exactly?”

“I think Bill could explain that better than I.”

Eggers had not been ready for this, but he caught the ball. “Stone is a generalist, where most of our people specialize. That sometimes gives him a better view of the big picture. He is a very, very capable attorney, I assure you.”

“I see,” Deal said, obviously not seeing at all. “And how are you going to help me, Mr. Barrington?”

Stone fixed a benevolent smile on his face. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you at all, until you tell me your problem, Mr. Deal.”

“It’s Harlan, please.”

“And please call me Stone.”

“I assure you, Harlan,” Eggers said, “all this will be kept in the closest confidence, under the full force of the attorney-client relationship.”

“I should certainly hope so,” Deal said, but he still made no move to explain his problem. He sighed deeply and finally said, “It’s my wife.”

Stone and Eggers sat silently, hanging on his every word.

“Oh, sorry,” Deal said. “I mean my fiancée. Soon to be my wife.”