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little remained of a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. He was a bear of a man with a large nose, meaty cheeks, and an unruly head of shaggy blond hair.
    “Hello, Bill.” Oliver held up a black leather cigar case. “I’ve got something for you.”
    “What?” McCarthy asked in his deep southern drawl.
    “Davidoff Double R’s.” He pulled two out of the case and handed them to McCarthy. “Twenty bucks a pop. Best cigar this side of Cuba.”
    McCarthy snatched the cigars from Oliver without a word, then walked directly to Jay and shook his hand. “Bill McCarthy.”
    “Jay West.”
    “Follow me, Mr. West,” McCarthy ordered gruffly, heading back into his office.
    Jay stepped toward the office doorway through which McCarthy had disappeared.
    “Have fun,” Oliver said quietly. “But don’t say anything stupid, like you can’t leave National City for another two weeks because the people there have been so good to you.”
    “Aren’t you coming in?” Jay asked, ignoring Oliver’s remark.
    “Nope. You won’t be in there very long. Find me when you’re done.”
    “Right.”
    “Come in,” McCarthy growled when Jay hesitated at the doorway of the spacious office. It was a corner office with a panoramic view of lower Manhattan and New York Harbor beyond. Lights from ships anchored north of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge shimmered in the distance with dusk falling on the city. “Shut the door,” McCarthy instructed, sitting down behind his massive desk, cluttered with newspapers and Styrofoam cups half full of black coffee.
    Jay pushed the door shut, and it clicked behind him.
    “Let’s get a couple of things straight right off the bat,” McCarthy began. “Don’t call me Mr. McCarthy or sir. Call me Bill. This is a collegial firm.”
    McCarthy’s southern accent was heavy, and Jay had to listen carefully to make certain he understood. “Okay… Bill.”
    “Don’t kiss my ass with any false respect crap, either. And, yes, I’m worth north of five hundred million dollars. Actually, well north. North Pole north, in fact.” He chuckled. “And I do talk to one of the president’s senior advisors every few days. The governor’s and mayor’s offices as well. They are constantly looking to me for guidance. The Forbes article you probably read to prepare for your interview was accurate; in fact, it didn’t really paint the whole picture. I’m even better-connected than it reported, and that is for two very good reasons: I’m almost always right when I give advice, and I’m generous with my contributions. Give politicians money and they’ll do anything for you. They are the most predictable people in the world that way.” McCarthy took a puff from his cigar and tossed the Davidoffs Oliver had given him onto the cluttered desk. “Now sit down,” he directed again, pointing at a chair in front of the desk as he began to search through the mess before him.
    Jay moved to the chair and sat.
    McCarthy glanced at the younger man as he rummaged through papers. Jay was tall and lanky with straight, layered dirty-blond hair, parted on one side. It fell over his forehead almost to his dark eyebrows in the front and to the bottom of his collar in the back. His face was thin but strong, dominated by large dark blue eyes, full lips, and a nose that was slightly crooked—probably broken at one point, McCarthy assumed. And under one eye was a faded half-inch-long scar, the only imperfection on a smooth complexion that still needed shaving only twice a week to keep a sparse cover of whiskers at bay. But the characteristic that struck McCarthy most wasn’t physical. What impressed McCarthy so strongly, and gave him the slightest seed of concern, was the steely self-assurance evident in Jay’s measured manner.
    McCarthy drew himself up in the desk chair. “You need a haircut,” he blurted suddenly.
    “Excuse me?” Jay had been taking in the view of the harbor.
    “Your hair’s too long. I don’t like