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But what difference does it make? Everybody understands that you’re here to make money and if you don’t, you’ll be fired. If you want a comfortable living, Jay West, sell sofas and easy chairs. And for Christ’s sake, don’t tell the human-resources person that you need to have an attorney review the contract. That’s a big red flag.”
    “I won’t.”
    Oliver turned down a hallway leading away from the trading floor, and the dull roar subsided. “What’s today?”
    “Tuesday,” Jay answered, glad to be of even trivial assistance to a man who had just guaranteed him at least a million-dollar payday in a little over seven months.
    “All right, then you’ll start on Thursday.”
    “I can’t.”
    “What?” Oliver stopped abruptly and whipped around, hands on hips, his face twisted into an expression of intense irritation.
    Jay blinked slowly. “I want to give the people at National City the standard two weeks before I leave. I want them to have plenty of time to put someone on my accounts and make the transition smooth.”
    “Bullshit, Jay!” Oliver bellowed, furious. “Son, I’ve just guaranteed you a million-dollar bonus in January from my personal operating budget. I want you in this building ASAP. Not next week, not the week after, but Thursday. I think I’m being pretty damn generous to give you two days to get your personal house in order. For a million dollars you ought to be planting your ass on the desk and getting to work for me as soon as you finish speaking to Bill McCarthy. Every day you’re working for National City, you’re not working for me.”
    “It’s just that the people at National City have been good to me,” Jay said quietly. “They’re my friends. I want to leave there on good terms. I think that’s important.”
    “Not half as important as pleasing me, pal,” Oliver replied coldly.
    Jay gazed at Oliver for several moments. The senior executives at National City weren’t going to be happy, but Oliver Mason had offered him the opportunity of a lifetime. He had no choice. “Okay, I’ll be here first thing Thursday morning.”
    “That’s the right answer. You had me worried for a second, son. Remember, no matter what anyone tells you, life is a one-way street. That one way is straight ahead. Keep your eye on the target, move directly at it any way you can, and don’t waste time worrying about people who can’t do anything for you anymore. As of this moment, those idiots at National City are in the past. Fuck ’em.” Oliver saw that Jay was struggling with his decision to leave National City so abruptly. “You don’t have any children, do you?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “Get some,” Oliver advised.
    “Why?”
    “They’re the only people who will ever truly appreciate you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They don’t know any better. Unfortunately, even they catch on at some point.” Oliver shook his head. “Yup, get yourself some children, Jay, but don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting that you get a wife.” He continued down the hallway. “Here we are,” he announced suddenly, pushing open a door without knocking. “Hello, Karen.”
    “Hi, Oliver.”
    Jay watched Oliver stride to the desk, take the hand of a woman sitting behind it, then lean down and gallantly kiss the backs of her fingers.
    “Oh, Oliver.” The woman turned her head to the side, delighted with Oliver’s attention.
    “Jay, meet Karen Walker.” Oliver gestured at Karen. “She is Bill McCarthy’s very capable executive assistant.”
    Jay judged Karen to be in her fifties. She was the first woman even close to that age he had encountered at McCarthy & Lloyd. “Hello.”
    “Hi,” she said politely, then quickly turned her attention back to Oliver. “How is that lovely wife of yours?”
    “Just fine, thanks.”
    “Hello, Oliver.” Bill McCarthy’s voice boomed out as he appeared in the doorway of the inner office, shirt-sleeves rolled up above his elbows and what