Epilogue
WE SIT AROUND THE table in the 677 Prime steakhouse like one
big happy family. Me, Roger Walls, and his lost-but-now-found son, Gregor
Oatczuk. A fourth person chooses to stand while he raises up a glass of
champagne to make a toast.
“Here’s to my newest powerhouse authors,” states literary
agent William Craig Williams. “Congratulations on your present successes and
your good fortune to come.”
“Yeah, yeah, Willy,” Roger laughs, taking a drink of beer
from the open bottle of beer set before him. “Like you won’t hesitate to drop
one of us if we stop moving units. Sit your ass down before you embarrass us.
And order more of those jumbo shrimp.”
Williams sits down and pours more champagne all around. He’s
smiling and pretending to be good humored despite Roger’s assessmen
