The private lounge was empty at that hour.
That was why I went there.
I pulled a bottle of whiskey from the bar Frank kept stocked for guests who never came and poured into a glass.
The glass was halfway to my mouth when the door opened.
"You're drinking at 8AM," Frank said. He crossed the room. Didn't sit. Just stood on the other side of the coffee table and looked at me.
"When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
"That Magnus Vance is alive, and he called you yesterday at eleven AM.”
The glass stopped halfway to my mouth.
Whiskey sloshed against the rim, and a drop ran over my knuckle. I didn’t feel it at first.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.
"Don't. Don't tell me you were about to. Don't tell me you were waiting for the right moment. Just answer the q
