The Exchange: After The Firm

“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.