“We’re going to need some expertise in sales,” Lee said. “I don’t know beans about selling paper. But there’s a guy who works in our sales department that can sell like nothing you’ve ever seen. Larry Hughes. I think I can get him to go in with us.”
He recognized the wisdom in that. “That’s smart.”
Lee’s smile got broader.
“It’s the deal of the century, Chris. The deal of the century.”
7:35P.M.
AKNOCK CAME FROM OUTSIDECHRIS’ BEDROOM DOOR.HE AMBLEDout of the walk-in closet as his butler entered. He noticed the change in jackets, the navy one worn to drive the Cadillac replaced with white, which he required to be worn inside the house.
“Would you like dinner in the study or the dining room?”
Home only a few minutes, he’d gone straight upstairs to change. He really hadn’t given dinner much thought. His cook was talented and he used to genuinely enjoy her meals. But not so much, as of late.
“I’ll eat in the study.”
He omitted theI’ll try.
His butler excused himself and left.
His bedroom was his favorite place. Priceless murals of Susanna and the Elders highlighted the walls. Two original Biedermeier pedestal tables sat next to nineteenth-century tapestry chairs. A Jacopo Brustolon crucifix bought in Rome hung over his bed. The decorating costs alone were more than he’d earned in all his years as a deputy loan officer at the Georgia Merchants and Savings Bank.
But money was no longer a concern. His worries now centered on things that couldn’t be readily controlled, like the pain in his abdomen that had steadily increased over the last hour. It started just before he left the Blue Tower, becoming uncomfortable during church. Kneeling in the confessional had aggravated it. Lately, almost everything seemed to have that effect.
He shuffled back into the closet and slowly peeled off his suit, shirt, and tie. He loosely draped the clothes over a brass valet. The steward would come later and hang everything. He carefully slipped on silk pajamas and a monogrammed paisley robe. He switched off the light and started across the carpet toward the bath.
The pain became unbearable.
Like a fist rammed into his gut.
His eyes teared and he doubled over, resisting hard the urge to cry out. He gritted his teeth, crept into the anteroom, and carefully settled into a leather chair at his writing desk. He waited a moment, hoping the agony would subside. He switched on the lamp and reached for his cell phone, dialing the number stored high in hisFAVORITES.
A pleasant male voice answered on the third ring.
“I delayed calling as long as I could,” he said. “But I think I need to see you.”
“Have there been more problems?” his doctor asked.
“The pain is becoming regular. I’ve been feeling… different.”
He reported the blood in his urine, a difficulty in peeing, weight loss, and how the pain had settled in his abdomen. Then, he said, “I was hoping for a little more time.”
“Call my office first thing tomorrow and we’ll arrange for tests. Chris, you’ve put this off long enough.”
“Could they be done over the weekend?”
He was hoping his old friend would understand.
“You don’t give up, do you? I’ll arrange it.”
“It’s my nature. And thank you.”
He hung up.
Amazingly, the pain had all but disappeared.
But it did that. Showing little rhythm or predictability. Coming and going. Seemingly dictated only by the deterioration occurring uncontrollably within him. Yesterday, when Nancy had quizzed him, he’d lied about how he felt. The truth would only worry her, and he didn’t want to do that.
