CHAPTER
TWELVE
I’d shared the IJIN hit with the team at Stanhope, Thornton and Webb. Several hours later, Satterman called, asking for a meeting at the house. Because the lawyers were going to be in attendance, I asked Shahbaz to come along, and told him at the first sign of games we’d leave and meet down at the station.
I sit down across from Linda Wesley, her father, and an immaculately groomed man I assume is another weasel d**k. Mr. GQ is perfectly tanned and has on a tailored silk shirt and sports jacket, a sign of seniority in a firm where, Tony tells me, grey suits are still mandatory, even for partners. Mr. GQ extends a large brown hand and introduces himself as Cranston Webb, of Stanhope, Thornton and Webb.
After the niceties, Webb’s smile drops. “Detective, do you have some q
