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“Everyone on the app is sworn to secrecy.”
“Terrific.”
“I mean, I could tell you about it without giving names. Make it a hypothetical.”
“Hard pass.”
“Why did you ask in the first place?”
“I was just wondering that myself.”
Win smiled, turned the page of the newspaper, and refolded it. He did this with great precision, like a mathematician working geometric shapes or Myron’s aunt Selma dividing a lunch check.
“Esperanza needs to see you this morning,” Win said. “Her office. They’re waiting for you now.”
Myron glanced at the fancy Louis the Something clock on the marble fireplace mantel. “Kinda early.”
“Yes.”
“You said they’re waiting,” Myron said.
“So observant.”
“They. As in plural.”
“Not in today’s world.”
“Fair enough, except I know Esperanza’s pronouns are she/her. Ergo she’s not the ‘they’ to which you refer.”
Win smiled, nodded approvingly. “The ‘they,’ my clever boy, refers to both Esperanza and Sadie Fisher.”
Sadie Fisher was the founding partner of the FFD law firm—the first F, as it were, where Esperanza was the D.
“So Sadie wants to talk to me,” Myron said.
Win didn’t reply.
“Why didn’t Esperanza just text me?”
“Because she didn’t want to interrupt you and Terese in flagrante delicto.”
Myron shook his head. “How old are you?”
“She preferred that I give you the message in person.”
“Any idea what’s up?”
“Some,” Win said. “But it would only be conjecture.”
An hour later, Win’s limo pulled into the special entrance below the Lock-Horne Building. They entered the private elevator. Myron got out alone on his old floor. Back in the days when MB Reps ruled this land, this foyer had been painted in the we-are-serious-professionals neutrals of gray and beige. When Fisher, Friedman and Diaz moved in, they painted the walls a harsh rouge seemingly inspired by the lipstick color Esperanza and Sadie both now sported.
The law firm’s receptionist was a young man named Taft Buckington III, who looked exactly like his name. Taft’s father, Taft Buckington II—and this won’t shock anyone, what with a name like that—was a member of Win’s ultra-exclusive golf club on the Main Line known as Merion. The FFD law firm was all-female. When Win, an investor in said law firm, suggested that Sadie hire a token male attorney, her response had been blunt: “Shit, no.” Instead, she hired young Taft to be both a receptionist and paralegal. It seemed to be working.
“Hey, Taft,” Myron said.
“Good morning, Mr. Bolitar. I’ll let Sadie and Esperanza know you’ve arrived.”
“No need.”
