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Authors: Mike Greenberg
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like a decent kid.”
“He’s smart. And ambitious. Sky-high.”
“Not surprised then,” he said. “That young, they think they’re invincible.”
“How do we handle?”
“Is he married?”
A chill went up my spine. “Yes, he’s married,” I said.
Bruce picked up his phone. “I’ll take it from here. See you on the basketball court in an hour.”
I hadn’t thought much about that conversation since. In part because it was the only one of its kind we ever had, but also because it rather scared me, like something out of a John Grisham novel. A week later I heard that Fernandez had made a startling decision: he turneddown the offer from our competitor and was instead moving his family out west to work for a smaller firm. It was the talk of our office for several days but I never asked any questions. As my mother said, sometimes it’s hard to imagine what people are capable of.
I’M NOT SURE EXACTLY what I expected a private detective to look like.
I guess I pictured Peter Falk, crumpled and quirky but trustworthy. Lowell Cranston didn’t look anything like Columbo. He was tall and thin, probably six foot five, with neatly parted hair and a well-kempt mustache. He wore a tight-fitting gray suit and slim black tie, more European banker than private eye. His office was small but tasteful, furnished more like a living room than a place of business: mahogany desk, bare hardwood floors, leather sofa, flat-screen television, fully stocked bar.
“Welcome,” Cranston said with a warm smile, rising from behind the desk as I entered. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Tempting, but no thanks.” I sat on the couch.
“If you feel ill at ease, Mr. Sweetwater, let me assure you that is very much the norm. Most of my clientele is of the sort that never imagined they would be sitting with a private detective. You’re thinking you need to explain to me that you are a normal, upstanding family man, a pillar of society. You needn’t bother. I know who you are.”
I nodded. And regretted not accepting the drink.
“Let me tell you a few things,” Cranston went on. “You’ll notice there was no one at the door to greet you, no assistant, no secretary, no partner, no intern. In this office, and in our transaction, you will deal with me and me alone, and I am the only one who will ever be aware this meeting took place. If we decide to proceed together I will remain the only person alive who will ever know of our dealings. In short: your secrets are safe with me. So why don’t you fix yourself that drink you’re reconsidering, make yourself comfortable, and let’s figure out what’s going on.”
In the refrigerator I found a tray of freshly sliced limes, each covered in thin plastic wrap. I took two and peeled the protective layer off each, squeezed one into a glass, and dropped the other in whole. Then I unscrewed the cap from a bottle of tonic water, filled a third of the glass, sloshed it about so the lime juice disappeared into the bubbles, then topped it with Grey Goose. “I don’t really know where to begin,” I said, still facing away. “What did Bruce tell you?”
“Mr. Sweetwater, I cannot confirm that I am acquainted with anyone named Bruce, just as I will never confirm to anyone that I am acquainted with you. As for the details of your case, I know absolutely nothing except what you will choose to tell me right now.”
I turned to face him. “I think my wife is having an affair.”
Cranston leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. He didn’t say a word.
“Did you hear me?” I asked.
“I most certainly did,” he said. “And I’m still listening.”
I told him everything there was to tell. He took notes by hand without looking down. When I was finished I downed more of the drink in large gulps. It wasn’t making me as drunk as I wanted to be.
“Nothing can change the world,” Cranston said, “but we can change the circumstances. In my experience, the only way to do
“He’s smart. And ambitious. Sky-high.”
“Not surprised then,” he said. “That young, they think they’re invincible.”
“How do we handle?”
“Is he married?”
A chill went up my spine. “Yes, he’s married,” I said.
Bruce picked up his phone. “I’ll take it from here. See you on the basketball court in an hour.”
I hadn’t thought much about that conversation since. In part because it was the only one of its kind we ever had, but also because it rather scared me, like something out of a John Grisham novel. A week later I heard that Fernandez had made a startling decision: he turneddown the offer from our competitor and was instead moving his family out west to work for a smaller firm. It was the talk of our office for several days but I never asked any questions. As my mother said, sometimes it’s hard to imagine what people are capable of.
I’M NOT SURE EXACTLY what I expected a private detective to look like.
I guess I pictured Peter Falk, crumpled and quirky but trustworthy. Lowell Cranston didn’t look anything like Columbo. He was tall and thin, probably six foot five, with neatly parted hair and a well-kempt mustache. He wore a tight-fitting gray suit and slim black tie, more European banker than private eye. His office was small but tasteful, furnished more like a living room than a place of business: mahogany desk, bare hardwood floors, leather sofa, flat-screen television, fully stocked bar.
“Welcome,” Cranston said with a warm smile, rising from behind the desk as I entered. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Tempting, but no thanks.” I sat on the couch.
“If you feel ill at ease, Mr. Sweetwater, let me assure you that is very much the norm. Most of my clientele is of the sort that never imagined they would be sitting with a private detective. You’re thinking you need to explain to me that you are a normal, upstanding family man, a pillar of society. You needn’t bother. I know who you are.”
I nodded. And regretted not accepting the drink.
“Let me tell you a few things,” Cranston went on. “You’ll notice there was no one at the door to greet you, no assistant, no secretary, no partner, no intern. In this office, and in our transaction, you will deal with me and me alone, and I am the only one who will ever be aware this meeting took place. If we decide to proceed together I will remain the only person alive who will ever know of our dealings. In short: your secrets are safe with me. So why don’t you fix yourself that drink you’re reconsidering, make yourself comfortable, and let’s figure out what’s going on.”
In the refrigerator I found a tray of freshly sliced limes, each covered in thin plastic wrap. I took two and peeled the protective layer off each, squeezed one into a glass, and dropped the other in whole. Then I unscrewed the cap from a bottle of tonic water, filled a third of the glass, sloshed it about so the lime juice disappeared into the bubbles, then topped it with Grey Goose. “I don’t really know where to begin,” I said, still facing away. “What did Bruce tell you?”
“Mr. Sweetwater, I cannot confirm that I am acquainted with anyone named Bruce, just as I will never confirm to anyone that I am acquainted with you. As for the details of your case, I know absolutely nothing except what you will choose to tell me right now.”
I turned to face him. “I think my wife is having an affair.”
Cranston leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. He didn’t say a word.
“Did you hear me?” I asked.
“I most certainly did,” he said. “And I’m still listening.”
I told him everything there was to tell. He took notes by hand without looking down. When I was finished I downed more of the drink in large gulps. It wasn’t making me as drunk as I wanted to be.
“Nothing can change the world,” Cranston said, “but we can change the circumstances. In my experience, the only way to do
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