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five thousand dollars. “This is the only thing I found. It can’t be an original if that’s the only coverage, but it’s a very odd sort of painting to be sitting in a high-tech office, so it must have some story attached to it. I already asked Beth Parker for some details about it on my diligence list. Who knows? Maybe a ten-million-dollar painting has been sitting behind Chris’s desk all these years and nobody bothered to ask anything about it. He’s flying back from Seoul tomorrow. He’ll be back in the office Friday.”
    Jack leaned forward in his chair, as if he understood the implications of what Leslie had just said.
    Kate turned to Ed. “I’d like to talk to Chris about that painting. We’d have a lot more wind behind our sails with that on the balance sheet. At least it’s a hard asset.” If she were to be saddled with this albatross of a deal, she at least wanted the best possible bundle of facts she could muster.
    Jack nodded his head and showed a tiny hint of a smile, which Kate took as his support for her suggestion. The gesture was little comfort in front of a hostile crowd.
    Ed shoved the draft across the table to Kate. “We’ll talk later.”
    Kate looked in Jack’s direction as a way of thanking him for not taking Ed’s side.
    Ed got out of his chair and walked to the door. He turned toward Kate just before he disappeared into the hall. “Our business is very simple, Kate. We provide the brains and the guts to walk through walls for these stupid fucking companies that want to sell little pieces of themselves to every IRA in the country. Thank God they need us to navigate the territory for them. And by the way, where do you think all this money I throw around here comes from?”
    There was no need to ask him to continue.
    “We close deals, we get paid. We don’t close deals, we don’t get paid.”

SEVEN
    Kate emailed the proposal to Chris later that afternoon and headed home for Sarah’s spring concert.
    The orchestra played Appalachian Spring by Aaron Copeland. The children flagged a bit in some of the middle passages, but there were several moments when Kate closed her eyes and it was hard for her to believe the performers were no older than thirteen.
    Sarah was in the first row, to the conductor’s immediate right, in a black Kate Spade dress. Her fingering of her cello was precise, her bowing measured.
    Kate pressed closer into Peter as the applause reached a crescendo. “Look at Sarah, Peter. She was magnificent.”
    “Proud Papa. Tears of joy.”
    Grace Tan’s daughter was first violinist. She was small, dark, intense, a year behind Sarah. Kate and Peter smiled and enthused over Grace’s daughter when she reached in to squeeze both their hands, just as Grace couldn’t say enough about Sarah.
    Kate started to stand. Peter grabbed her arm. “Hold on, Kate. One question.” The edge to his voice made her pause.
    “Have you been making inquiries about selling the Leger?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “Connie Meyers from Sotheby’s called the house while you were on your way back from the city. She said she tried your cell a couple of times.”
    “I was on with Ed. I’ll tell you what he said later. What did Connie have to say?”
    “Actually, I was quite surprised by her call. Unpleasantly so.”
    Kate lowered her voice. “Let’s talk about this later. Tonight is about Sarah.”
    “It feels as though you’re giving up on Ascalon.”
    Kate knew Peter would be a mess at the reception in the cafeteria if she didn’t give him at least a couple of minutes more. In a low voice, she said, “I wanted to have a sense of what we might be able to fetch for it if things get to that point. I’m looking down the road.”
    “Looking down the road? It sounds as though you’re already there.”
    Kate knew she had to say something positive. “I didn’t ask her about selling it. I wouldn’t do that without talking to you.”
    “They’ll guarantee us a little under four million