a major infrastructure project.
He picked up the phone.
This time he called Arthur Bellamy.
The attorney answered on the fourth ring.
“Adrian.”
Arthur was seventy-one now, though his voice still carried the careful calm Adrian remembered from childhood.
“Arthur, I need to ask you about someone.”
“Of course.”
“Daniel Keane.”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Not hesitation.
Recognition.
Adrian rose from his desk.
“Arthur?”
“I heard you.”
“So you know the name.”
Another silence.
Then Arthur said, “Where did you hear it?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
Adrian walked toward the window.
“Daniel Keane worked for Whitmore Infrastructure.”
“Yes.”
“He worked on Rivergate.”
“Yes.”
“My father fired him.”
Arthur exhaled slowly.
“Adrian, this is not a conversation I should have with you over the telephone.”
“Why?”
“Because some things deserve more care than that.”
“Then come here.”
“I can’t today.”
“Tomorrow.”
Arthur hesitated.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
That irritated
