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“The Bentley Company. We manufacture precision machine parts for the oil, aircraft, and aerospace industries.”
“Of course,” Herbie said. “I think I read something in Fortune a few months ago about the company.”
“I’m the third generation,” II said.
“Perhaps Bobby will be the fourth yet,” Herbie said, “but I think he needs to prove himself in an unconnected field first.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, I surmised it.”
“Well, Mr. Fisher, you’ve given me new hope.”
Bobby returned.
“Shall we go in to dinner?” II asked, rising. The two younger men followed him to the dining room, where they were given a corner table.
Herbie noticed that Mr. Bentley took the gunfighter’s seat, facing the room. They received menus and ordered, and Bentley chose an expensive French claret for them.
“Tell me, Mr. Fisher,” II said, “what would you do if a client of yours found themselves faced with an unjust and potentially dangerous lawsuit? Do you have any experience with commercial litigation?”
“We’re a large enough firm to have people experienced in every area of the law,” Herbie said. “I think of myself as a generalist. If my client were faced with such a problem I would assemble an expert team from the firm’s partners and act as
liaison between them and my client.”
“That’s a very sensible way to proceed for someone in your position,” II said.
Their dinner arrived, and II led the discussion from one subject to another for an hour. When coffee arrived, he said, “You know, I had hoped that when Bobby had acquired some experience at his firm, I might ask him to represent the firm in some area or other. I had thought that some years might pass before I had the opportunity to do that, but since he’s obviously found a good place to be in the firm, maybe I can make it happen more quickly.”
“I would be happy to help in any way I can,” Herbie said, “and I’m sure Bobby would, too. We can put the best of Woodman and Weld at your disposal.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” II said, then ordered them a fine brandy.
20
Stone was having a sandwich at his desk when the phone rang. Joan had gone to the bank, so he answered.
“Hi, Stone,” a silken and very familiar voice said. “It’s Tiffany.”
Tiffany Baldwin was the United States attorney for the Southern District of New York, and something of an old flame of Stone’s. He did not wish to hear from her, but he didn’t want to alienate her, either, given her position. “Hi, Tiff,” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage.
“Something came across my desk involving a client of yours,” she said.
“Oh? Which client?”
“One Herbert Fisher. Seems Mr. Fisher got the funds in a brokerage account as part of a divorce settlement.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” Stone said. “I believe I wrote to you about it some months ago.”
“Some months ago releasing the funds would have been out of the question, given the criminal history of the former Mrs. Fisher, but things may have changed. Now, discussing the matter is not out of the question.”
“I would be very pleased to discuss that at your convenience,” Stone said.
“I would find it convenient to have dinner at Daniel tonight, then have a drink at your place.”
Stone hoped she didn’t hear him grit his teeth. “Of course, Tiff. May we meet at Daniel at eight?”
“We may,” she said. “See you there.”
