“What the hell did you say to her?” Dick Thompson barked in my ear three days later, the moment I picked up the phone in my office.
“Beverly, I’ve got it.” I heard the click as my secretary switched off the line. “Nothing,” I told Dick bitterly. “I did what you asked me to do. I showed her the documents.”
“Well, she’s gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“I mean, Peter, her house is empty. Not a stick of furniture left. And there’s a For Sale sign on the lawn. And we don’t have a fucking clue where in the world she’s taken her son, or what she plans to do.”
Thinking I was about to be sick then, I hung up before he could say any more.