Wolfe had called a late night meeting at his Fifth Avenue office. Aziz would join us.
The building lobby was huge, glossy, and empty. There was a single attendant at a massive desk near the bank of elevators that led to the thirty-fifth floor. On the streets, it had been unusually windy, so the lobby in contrast was like a cave, noiseless and shimmering with its gold patterned floor, high ceiling, and lack of chaos. Wolfe had the entire thirty-fifth floor, and the elevator let out to a dim entry area. A staircase curled to a second floor and there was the sound of instrumental music, which abruptly shut off.
“Up here,” Wolfe called.
Everything about the place glimmered. Parquet diamond patterned floors, rich walnut walls, the dark curling bannister trailing up. At the top, a double door
