The Exchange: After The Firm

Chapter 25

Mitch’s shot-in-the-dark prediction, allegedly based on his fancy education, was remarkably close. Noura did not wait forty-eight hours. She waited about forty-seven, and called Abby on the Jakl phone at 7:31 Saturday morning.

Abby was on her yoga mat in the den, stretching half-heartedly and trying to remember the last weekend when she had the apartment all to herself. She missed her guys and under different circumstances would not have been worried about them. She talked to Mitch twice Friday night, on the green phone, and was fully debriefed. The boys were having a grand time in Mr. Barry’s mansion, while Mitch and the owner were smoking Cuban cigars and drinking single malts.

They felt perfectly safe. No one could possibly find them.

Selecting the proper phone from her collection assembled on the coffee table, always close at hand, Abby lifted the Jakl and said, “Hello.”

“Abby McDeere, this is Noura.”

What’s the proper greeting to a terrorist on a rainy Saturday morning in Manhattan? Though in an odd way she was relieved to get the call, she refused to show any interest. Calmly she said, “Yes, this is Abby.”

Evidently, terrorists didn’t use greetings because Noura skipped them altogether. “We should meet tomorrow morning before noon. Are you available?”

Do I have a choice? “Yes.”

“Walk to the ice rink in Central Park. At ten-fifteen, approach the main entrance. There’s an ice-cream vendor to the left, on the east side. Stand there and wait. Your husband is a Mets fan, right?”

A kick in the gut could not have jolted her more. How much did these people know about them? “Yes,” she managed to say.

“Wear a Mets cap.”

Mitch had at least five of them hung on a rack in his closet. “Sure.”

“If you bring anyone with you, we will know immediately.”

“Okay.”

“That would be a terrible mistake, Mrs. McDeere. Understood?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You must come alone.”

“I’ll be there.”

There was a long pause as Abby waited. She repeated, “I’ll be there.”

More silence. Noura was gone.

Carefully, Abby put down the Jakl, picked up the green phone, walked to her bedroom, closed the door, and called Mitch.

Though obviously built to entertain adults, Wicklow showed signs of children passing through. At least one of the bedrooms had two sets of bunk beds, rainbows painted on the walls, outdated video games, and a wide-screen television. Tanner showed the boys around and they quickly gave the house thumbs-up. By dinner Friday, Tanner was their new best friend.

They slept until almost eight Saturday morning and followed the smells downstairs to the breakfast room where they found their father drinking coffee and talking to Mr. Cory. Miss Emma appeared from the kitchen and asked what they would like for breakfast. After much indecision, they settled on waffles and bacon.

Cory finished his omelette and excused himself. Mitch asked the boys how the night went and everything was awesome. They said they wanted bunk beds at home. “You can discuss it with your mother. She’s in charge of furniture and decorating.”

“Where’s Mr. Barry?” Clark asked.

“I think he went to his office.”

“Where’s his office?”

“That way,” Mitch replied, waving over his shoulder as if the office was far away but still under the same roof. “I don’t want you guys roaming around the house, okay? We are guests and this is not a hotel. Do not go in a room unless you’re invited.”

They listened intently and began nodding. Carter asked, “Dad, why are the rooms so big here?”

“Well, it might be because Mr. Barry has a lot of money and can afford big houses with big rooms. Also, he invites guests to stay here for weeks at a time and I suppose they need plenty of space. Another reason might be that you guys live in a city where almost everybody lives in apartments. They tend to be smaller.”

“Can we buy a mansion?” Clark asked.

Mitch smiled and said, “We certainly cannot. Very few people can afford a house like this. Do you really want eighteen bedrooms?”

“Most of them are empty,” Carter said.

“Does Mr. Barry have a wife?” Clark asked.

“Yes, a lovely woman named Millicent. She’s still in New York but will be here later this month.”

“Does he have kids?”

“Kids and grandkids, but they live in California.”

According to Jack, Barry was estranged from both of his adult children. The family had been bickering for years over his fortune.

The waffles and bacon arrived on platters, each large enough for a small family, and the boys lost interest in Mr. Barry. Mitch left them at the table and walked outside to a covered deck not far from the pier to the boat dock. Cory, of course, was on the phone. He put it away and Mitch asked, “What’s the plan?”

“Let’s stay here tonight, get the grandparents settled, then take off early in the morning for the city. That was Darian and he’ll be there. We’ll set up camp in the Everett Hotel on Fifth, across from the ice rink.”

“How often do you remind yourself that we have no idea who we’re dealing with, other than a woman named Noura?” Mitch asked.

“Once every thirty seconds.”

“And how often do you ask yourself if Noura could be a hoax?”

“Once every thirty seconds. But she’s not a hoax, Mitch. She found your wife in a coffee shop in Manhattan. They had her under surveillance. Hell, they were watching your entire family. She gave her that phone. She’s not a hoax.”

“And how much money will they want?” Mitch asked.

“Probably more than we can begin to imagine.”

“So, do we expect Abby to negotiate?”

“I have no idea. We’re not running this show, Mitch. They are. All we can do is react and pray we don’t screw up.”

Harold and Maxine Sutherland had never been to Maine but it was on their list. In their retirement they were having far too much fun checking off the places they had dreamed of and were now visiting. With no dogs or cats, a downsized cottage in the country, and a healthy bank account, they were the envy of their friends as they repacked their bags almost as fast as they unpacked them. Luckily, they were at home when Abby called Thursday afternoon and said it was urgent.

Tanner fetched them at the ferry and delivered them to Wicklow. Mitch and the boys greeted them at the door. Once again, Mitch was touched by how excited they were to see Maxie and Hoppy, who, of course, were even more excited to see their grandsons. Everybody helped with the bags and Tanner settled them into a fine suite across the hall from the bunk room. The boys couldn’t wait to show their grandparents around Mr. Barry’s mansion. After being there for twenty-four hours they felt like they owned the place and had forgotten their father’s warning about roaming the halls. A late lunch was in order, and Mr. Barry appeared from some far corner of the house to dine with the McDeeres and Sutherlands. He was a gracious host and had the knack for making complete strangers feel welcome. Mitch figured this came from years of hosting lots of friends at Wicklow, but he was also an easy soul to be around. A billion bucks in the bank probably added to his quiet, laid-back approach to life. But Mitch had met his share of self-made Wall Streeters, and many of them were to be avoided.

Mitch kept an eye on the boys. They had been taught by their mother to say little in the presence of adults and to mind their table manners. Mitch was thankful for her proper, small-town upbringing. Abby had been “raised right,” as they say in Kentucky. To himself, he acknowledged this and thanked her parents.

So why did he find it so hard to forgive them? And to actually like them? Because they had never apologized for their slights and transgressions of twenty years ago, and, frankly, Mitch had stopped waiting. The last thing he wanted now was an awkward forced hug with a tearful “We’re sorry.” His therapist had almost convinced him that carrying such a heavy grudge for so long was hindering his growth as a mature person. It had become his problem, not theirs. He was the one being damaged. The therapist’s mantra was: Just let it go.

Over lunch, common ground was soon found with fly-fishing. Barry had shucked the 80-hour workweeks years earlier and found solace in mountain streams all over the country. Harold had begun as a child and knew every creek in Appalachia. As the fish got bigger and bigger, Mitch found himself drifting away. He chatted with Maxine off and on. It was obvious they were concerned and wanted details.

Tanner appeared and suggested another boat ride. The boys beat him down to the dock. Mr. Barry retired into the depths of Wicklow to watch the Yankees game, a daily ritual.

Mitch led his in-laws into the library, closed the door, and explained to them why they were there. He gave only the barest of details, but it was enough to frighten them. The fact that terrorists were following their daughter and grandsons around Manhattan, and taking photos, was shocking.

They would hide in Maine with the boys for a month if necessary.