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book bindings and collections of family and Civil War relics. He ran his hand admiringly along a matched set of bound correspondence. “Your family’s past seems well documented,” Lyon commented.
    Peyton laughed. “Preservation of the name and glorious past. It’s an old New England habit, Lyon. We try to keep it all together.” He gestured expansively toward Roger Candlin. “And here’s a living example. Did you know that my forefathers worked with the congressman’s back in the days when the Candlins were private bankers?”
    â€œUntil the day his granddaddy told my granddaddy to sell Piper Corporation stock short,” Candlin said without apparent emotion.
    Peyton chuckled. “The old colonel did have one hell of a strange sense of humor.”
    â€œThe earnings report was far better than the colonel had indicated,” the congressman continued in a flat voice. “It cost my family every cent we had to cover that short sale.”
    Peyton’s hand curled over the congressman’s shoulder. “That was another generation, Roger. Much water has flowed past Bridgeway since then. The colonel’s financial games are long forgotten.”
    â€œBut of course,” Candlin replied in the same emotionless voice.
    The butler entered with a tray of champagne glasses. “Rabbit’s family has been with us for generations also,” Peyton said as he patted the head of his scowling servant.
    â€œUsually as court jesters,” Rabbit said. “Only these days we get to do away with the bells on the hat and the pointy shoes.” He offered champagne to everyone.
    Lyon waved his away, but Peyton insisted that he take a glass.
    Peyton raised his glass. “A toast to the removal of the Piper Corporation. May we drink to all that it has contributed to the Nutmeg state over the past century and a half.”
    Candlin did not raise his glass. “Did I hear the word removal, Peyton? Or is that your poor idea of humor?”
    â€œNo, Roger. I am not being facetious. I am considering making the formal announcement of our relocation at a press conference tomorrow. It’ll be a lesson to those idiot protesters who disrupted my guests. The left-wing contingent seems to have forgotten that Piper Corporation provides an economic base for the Connecticut Valley. We pay the highest industrial hourly wage in the northeast.”
    Bea was upset. “Peyton, your factory has been in Connecticut practically since we killed off the Indians. You just can’t close down and leave without months of warning and severance pay arrangements.”
    â€œOur labor costs are outrageously high and not competitive with other states, much less other countries. It’s a simple matter of economics, Beatrice. I was below the Mason-Dixon line recently and found that they sharpen their pencils when they beckon industry in the southland. I have an obligation to our stockholders to take the most profitable course of action.”
    Roger Candlin made an indescribable sound, which Lyon interpreted as a sort of hurrumph. “You and your family own a majority interest in the voting stock of the Piper Corporation, Peyton. Don’t hand me any of your stockholder crap.”
    â€œYou will devastate the economy of the Murphysville-Middleburg area,” Bea said. She tried to avoid the astonished look Lyon turned in her direction. An hour ago she was standing on the hood of a car accepting the baton of protest from a concerned group of people. Now, she was arguing for the retention of that same factory that made items that had no functional use except killing. It was a quandary of a distinctively political nature.
    â€œPlease don’t weep crocodile tears for the community, Bea,” Peyton said. “Moments ago you were glaring at me as a typical munitions monster. Those people ranting outside wouldn’t care if I close all our doors permanently. In other words, you