Final Option

of the two accounts. I don’t know who it is who does business as Deodar Commodities. Your father promised he’d have all that material to give me on Sunday morning. That’s why I’m surprised that I didn’t find anything at the house. Do you know if the police took papers away with them when they searched?”
    “I have no idea. I can ask my mother. But I’m sure there are copies of all of that stuff at the office. Why don’t you ask Tim?”
    “I was planning on doing that this morning until this other matter came up. I think I’m just going to go over there if you don’t mind. We’re a little pressed for time. Usually the CFTC gives the defendant two weeks to respond to a Wells. We’ve had three one-week extensions already. From the sound of things I don’t think we’re going to get a fourth. I’m going to have to get copies of those documents today. Plus, I want to have a look through your dad’s files. I want to see whether he was holding any warehouse receipts for physicals, check if any confirmations of trades from other exchanges came in. I want to be sure we’re not headed for any unpleasant surprises.”
    “Speaking of unpleasant surprises,” began Barton Jr. reluctantly, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I know it’s really more in Kurlander’s line, but I can’t bring myself to talk to him about it. I know it sounds stupid, but he reminds me of Father O’Donnell, one of the parish priests when I was growing up. He frightened us into believing that he could tell what sins we’d committed just by looking at us. Every time I talk to Kurlander I get this pain in my chest. He makes my father’s money seem like this enormous cross I’m going to have to cart around the rest of my life.”
    “I know. Ken is into Duty with a capital D. But there’s no denying that this kind of money does tend to develop a life of its own. What did you want to talk to me about?”
    “Last night I got a phone call from someone who works for my father. Her name is Torey Lloyd. It was a strange conversation. At first she wasn’t very direct. But I think what it boils down to is that she claims to have been having an affair with my father.”
    “And she wants money,” I guessed.
    “Yes. Yes, she does. I was wondering if you might be willing to talk to her for me. I honestly don’t think I can face it.”
     
    My mother caught me just as I was leaving for Hexter Commodities. I was standing behind my desk, snapping the locks closed on my briefcase when Cheryl rushed in, a look of apology on her face. Following close on her heels was my female parent. Mother always fills Cheryl with a kind of terrified awe. She is so perfect, like a photograph from Vogue come to life. Everything about her sets her apart from the workaday world—her magnificent hair, the makeup that has taken hours, the elegant line of her skirt, the handmade Italian pumps that all speak of a quiet fortune and a lifetime of leisure.
    Mother seldom came to my office, and I did nothing to hide my surprise.
    “I was on my way to the Carolina Herrara trunk show at Neiman Marcus, and I thought you might like to join me,” she announced, looking around my office as if she’d just gotten off the train only to find herself at the wrong station. “You know I always think Carolina’s clothes would be so good for you—elegant and feminine. I might even take you to lunch afterward.“
    “I’m so sorry, Mother,” I said, managing to squeeze some semblance of regret into my voice. “I was just leaving for a meeting. We’ll have to have lunch another day.”
    “I’m sure you could rearrange your schedule if you really wanted to. After all, it’s not every day that your mother invites you out to lunch. And besides, you really need to order something to wear when they take your picture for that magazine article.”
    “What article?” I demanded with a sinking feeling. “Stephen probably hasn’t had time to call you yet. Vera Masterson’s daughter, Avery, has some big job at Chicago Magazine, and they’ve decided to do a cover story on the city’s power couples—you know, where both the man and the woman do these important things. They’re interviewing Marv and Shelly Quinlen—he’s head of Quinlen Steel of course, and she’s chairwoman of the Art Institute Board this year; and they’re using Terry Binstock and his wife, Susan—he’s the big heart surgeon at Northwestern, and she owns that gallery on Huron