it that Parker insisted we get married at that ritzy St. Ignatius
Loyola Church in Manhattan. Parker said that he didn’t want his friends trekking out to our parish church in Brooklyn. It was a big wedding and the reception was at The Plaza. Daddy was angry
that Parker insisted on paying for everything, even my wedding dress. Parker said that he didn’t want me to buy something off the rack in Macy’s.
Daddy was never impressed by him . . . He said, “Anne, what scares me is that I feel it in my veins that that guy is a phony. He may make a lot of money but only a phony would change a
good name like Joseph to one that he thinks is high-class.”
Anne smiled. When Dad wanted to get Parker’s goat, he called him Joey.
We were so happy together all those years. Every morning when he left for the office he would always tell me how much he would miss me all day. And I would say that I’d miss him too. It
was our little joke. Even that last day when he was getting on the plane to St. John he said to me, “I’ll always miss you so much.”
Parker wasn’t religious. What did he mean when he said, “I’ll always miss you so much”? Even though he went to church with me now and then, he certainly didn’t
believe in the hereafter. He believed that when we die, it’s all over. Then what did he mean?
And why did I scream at poor Eric that he knew his father was alive? Was it only because I had had too much wine that night?
Anne finished her second cup of coffee and pushed back the terrible and unwelcome thought that she might have inherited her father’s intuition.
14
O n Monday morning Eric Bennett entered the office of Patrick Adams, founder of the security firm that bore his name.
A former New York State senator, Adams, during his ten-year tenure, had been outraged by the constant evidence of graft he witnessed at sessions of the Albany legislature. Deciding to retire and
do something about it, he had opened the security agency. Within two years he had earned the reputation of successfully unearthing fraud, not only in government-related crimes but also insider
trading.
He was astonished to learn that Eric Bennett, son of the notorious swindler Parker Bennett, had made an appointment to see him.
Like the vast majority of the public, he believed that Eric had worked hand in glove with his father to steal the money from the Bennett Fund.
Fifty-two years old, wide-bodied but in shape, with a full head of mostly gray hair and an aura of confidence about himself, Adams was a formidable man.
The fact that Bennett arrived precisely at ten impressed him favorably. He had no use for people who were chronically late. But he was equally dismissive of people who arrived much too early. It
was a sign of insecurity, which made him suspicious.
His secretary escorted Eric Bennett in. Adams’s first impression of him was favorable. Bennett was dressed in a well-cut gray suit. The sleeves of his shirt had cuffs. The cuff links were
unobtrusive, small black stones. His polite reserve as he greeted Adams was a surprise. Adams had expected him to appear nervous.
Invited to be seated, Bennett took the chair directly in front of Adams’s desk.
“I’ll get right to the point,” he said calmly. “Unless you are blind, deaf, and dumb, which I certainly know you’re not, I don’t have to explain anything
about my father, Parker Bennett, and what he is accused of doing.”
“Accused,” Adams thought. How about, I know what your father did?
His answer to Bennett was given in the same direct tone. “Yes, I am aware of the circumstances surrounding your father.”
“Well then, you are also aware of the circumstances surrounding me,” Eric said quietly. “The belief that I was involved in the theft is almost universal. Don’t you
agree?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then you must understand where I’m coming from. I am absolutely innocent of any involvement in the theft. My computer has been pulled apart. Every
Loyola Church in Manhattan. Parker said that he didn’t want his friends trekking out to our parish church in Brooklyn. It was a big wedding and the reception was at The Plaza. Daddy was angry
that Parker insisted on paying for everything, even my wedding dress. Parker said that he didn’t want me to buy something off the rack in Macy’s.
Daddy was never impressed by him . . . He said, “Anne, what scares me is that I feel it in my veins that that guy is a phony. He may make a lot of money but only a phony would change a
good name like Joseph to one that he thinks is high-class.”
Anne smiled. When Dad wanted to get Parker’s goat, he called him Joey.
We were so happy together all those years. Every morning when he left for the office he would always tell me how much he would miss me all day. And I would say that I’d miss him too. It
was our little joke. Even that last day when he was getting on the plane to St. John he said to me, “I’ll always miss you so much.”
Parker wasn’t religious. What did he mean when he said, “I’ll always miss you so much”? Even though he went to church with me now and then, he certainly didn’t
believe in the hereafter. He believed that when we die, it’s all over. Then what did he mean?
And why did I scream at poor Eric that he knew his father was alive? Was it only because I had had too much wine that night?
Anne finished her second cup of coffee and pushed back the terrible and unwelcome thought that she might have inherited her father’s intuition.
14
O n Monday morning Eric Bennett entered the office of Patrick Adams, founder of the security firm that bore his name.
A former New York State senator, Adams, during his ten-year tenure, had been outraged by the constant evidence of graft he witnessed at sessions of the Albany legislature. Deciding to retire and
do something about it, he had opened the security agency. Within two years he had earned the reputation of successfully unearthing fraud, not only in government-related crimes but also insider
trading.
He was astonished to learn that Eric Bennett, son of the notorious swindler Parker Bennett, had made an appointment to see him.
Like the vast majority of the public, he believed that Eric had worked hand in glove with his father to steal the money from the Bennett Fund.
Fifty-two years old, wide-bodied but in shape, with a full head of mostly gray hair and an aura of confidence about himself, Adams was a formidable man.
The fact that Bennett arrived precisely at ten impressed him favorably. He had no use for people who were chronically late. But he was equally dismissive of people who arrived much too early. It
was a sign of insecurity, which made him suspicious.
His secretary escorted Eric Bennett in. Adams’s first impression of him was favorable. Bennett was dressed in a well-cut gray suit. The sleeves of his shirt had cuffs. The cuff links were
unobtrusive, small black stones. His polite reserve as he greeted Adams was a surprise. Adams had expected him to appear nervous.
Invited to be seated, Bennett took the chair directly in front of Adams’s desk.
“I’ll get right to the point,” he said calmly. “Unless you are blind, deaf, and dumb, which I certainly know you’re not, I don’t have to explain anything
about my father, Parker Bennett, and what he is accused of doing.”
“Accused,” Adams thought. How about, I know what your father did?
His answer to Bennett was given in the same direct tone. “Yes, I am aware of the circumstances surrounding your father.”
“Well then, you are also aware of the circumstances surrounding me,” Eric said quietly. “The belief that I was involved in the theft is almost universal. Don’t you
agree?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then you must understand where I’m coming from. I am absolutely innocent of any involvement in the theft. My computer has been pulled apart. Every
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