Stone drove him to the showroom. “I’ll wait until you’ve actually bought the van,” he said.
“Don’t worry, I’ve brought my checkbook,” Barton said. “I’ll be out of here in the van in half an hour. Go home, Stone, and I thank you for your help. If my brother should ask, tell him I’m just fine.” He got out of the car, closing the door behind him, and strode toward the dealer’s showroom.
Stone turned around and pointed the car toward I-84 West. He would be home in an hour and a half.
Stone and Dino sat at Elaine’s, eating dinner.
“That’s a weird story,” Dino said. “Can a piece of furniture be worth twenty-five million dollars?”
“Maybe more,” Stone said, “according to Barton.”
“Did you see the news tonight?” Dino asked.
“No.”
“They rescued those people in Afghanistan. Nobody got hurt.”
“So Lance made the right call?”
Dino shrugged. “I guess, unless they ignored his advice.”
“Was there anything on the news or in the afternoon papers about Barton Cabot?”
“No, not a word,” Dino replied.
“That’s kind of odd, isn’t it? It’s a pretty good story.”
“I think it’s only a good story if the press finds out he’s Lance’s brother.”
“Or if they hear about the secretary,” Stone pointed out.
“I’m not talking,” Dino said. “Are you?”
“Nope. Barton hopes whoever attacked him thinks he’s dead.”
“He would be safer if they thought that, I guess,” Dino said.
“And if nobody knows about the secretary he still has, which might be the original.”
“Well, yes, I suppose he would be in a hell of a lot of danger, if that were public knowledge.”
“I’m not talking,” Stone said. “Are you?”
“Nope,” Dino said. “What do you think Barton intends to do about all this?”
“Do about it?”
“Come on, Stone, if you had lost a piece of furniture that might be worth twenty-five million bucks, wouldn’t you do something about it?”
“I’d call the cops and the newspapers and get as much publicity about it as I could. That would make it harder to sell, and if there was already a buyer, it might make him too nervous to complete the sale.”
“So why doesn’t Barton do that?” Dino asked. “If he could get it back, he’d have furniture worth fifty million.”
“Good point.”
“And Barton is a hotshot ex-Marine. That kind of military experience molds a man. Why would he accept being beaten up and left on the street for dead?”
“Another good point,” Stone admitted. “Do you think I should call Lance and tell him about all this?”