Chapter 7
Atlanta, GA
Philip
IN THE CAR, TRAVELING west toward the interstate with Lance curled up in the backseat, I watched as Charles pulled a BlackBerry out of his pocket and punched some numbers after hooking a Bluetooth set over his ear. He glanced at me and winked.
“I know,” I said. “You like your toys.”
“I dialed the main office number first,” he said, “because there’s a good possibility that my secretary will be at work by now—she prefers coming in early to staying late.”
He said into the phone, “Hi, Roger. You’re an early bird. Has Rosemary come in yet? … Great, I’ll hold.”
He turned to me and said, “We’re in luck, she’s already at her desk.” He paused, obviously interrupted by something being said to him.
“Hi there. Glad to see you on the job so early. … Yes, I know, the
