brought into the world. Whitney felt overwhelmed, while Franklyn still remained skeptical.
Toward the end of the magnificent meal, Montaro stood to propose a toast. “Kritzman Fritzbrauner, I raise my glass to you,” he said, holding his wineglass aloft. He gestured to Howard to hold up his glass as well. “Howard and I greatly enjoyed the sumptuous dinner at your home, and this setting is as close as we can come to replicating its elegance. We each raise our glass to you and to the better self you see in the mirror of your mind. Know that our toast comes from the better selves we all see ourselves to be in the mirrors of our own minds. We salute you and your beautiful daughter, Colette.”
Colette Beekman Fritzbrauner’s face flushed and she felt the same familiar yet indefinable rush of emotion she seemed to sense whenever she was in the same room as Montaro. Kritzman Fritzbrauner looked proudly upon his daughter, but she did not meet his gaze before he stood and extended his glass toward Caine and Mozelle.
“Montaro,” Fritzbrauner said, “thank you for those very kind words. Montaro and Howard’s presence at my house made for a most enlightening evening. I invited a number of erudite friends who were steeped in science, philosophy, and history and had more than a passing familiarity with cosmology. They all tried their best to stump Montaro, only to discover how truly well rounded he is, not only in the corporate world, but also in the arts and sciences. You will not be forgotten by those guys anytime soon, Montaro. I drink to your health as well.”
As Fritzbrauner sat and Montaro prepared to continue his speech, a tuxedoed and somewhat flustered maître d’ entered the dining room and approached Montaro.
“Mr. Caine,” the maître d’ said in a hushed voice. “I am sorry to interrupt, but there are some people who wish to join your party.”
“By all means, show them in,” Montaro said; he had, in fact, instructed the Beaumont’s staff to tell him when Tom Lund and Luther John Doe arrived, and he was pleased that Luther, whom he had arranged to have stay in a nearby hotel with Tom, was feeling well enough to attend. But when the maître d’ reentered the room, he was accompanied by Cordiss Krinkle and Victor Lambert. Montaro had never seen Cordiss or Victor before and, from the descriptions he had been given, he would not have recognized them—they wore dark, conservative clothes and Cordiss’s hair was pulled back in a severe bun. But from the reactions on the faces of those who knew Cordiss and Victor, Montaro understood exactly who they were.
Whitney’s hands reflexively flew up to cover her face; a cry emerged from her lips as she remembered the time that she and Franklyn had spent in Alcala de Henarés, essentially imprisoned there. Franklyn felt a surge of anger when he saw the look on his wife’s face. Everyone remained still as they watched Cordiss and Victor move to the center of the room.
Julius Hargrove addressed his remarks to Cordiss; he alone seemed unsurprised by her appearance. “You have something you wish to say?” he asked, prodding her to speak. Cordiss nodded uncertainly, then moved forward a few hesitant paces. As Victor held her hand, she cleared her throat; when she spoke, her voice barely rose above a whisper. She did not seem to be pissing ice water now.
“We apologize for interrupting your dinner,” she said haltingly. “We only wish to say something to all of you, and then we will be on our way.”
Cordiss looked to Hargrove, then to Montaro. But as she looked to the Walkers and tried to catch Whitney’s eye, she saw only Franklyn’s stern and unforgiving glare. Cordiss took a deep breath.
“We have wronged some of you,” she said. “We have stolen from some of you and sold what we stole to others in this room. We are here to try to make restitution, to the extent that we can. For having wronged you and broken your trust, we apologize. We will pay back every penny of the money we received. We know who the coins truly belong to. I stole the first coin from Dr. Mozelle’s office; that one rightfully belonged to you, Whitney.”
Whitney could not bring herself to look at Cordiss, whose voice buckled as her eyes drifted downward. Cordiss made as if to speak further, but her voice caught in her throat. She turned to Victor, who finished her thought.
“The