Chapter 16: The Dinner

The Lantern Room kept its private dining room behind a curtain of red velvet, and the maître d' tried to be sorry about it.

"Madam, the room is reserved."

"By Gaines Hospitality," I said. "I know. I own the credit line that pays for the wine."

He looked at Winslow.

Winslow looked at the curtain.

The maître d' stepped aside.

Eight chairs sat around an oval table under a low chandelier.

Five were taken.

At the head, Darrell Gaines was in the middle of a sentence.

He held a champagne flute in one hand, with the other arm spread wide, selling.

"...which is why this is the only window you'll ever have.

A flagship on Michigan Avenue, four hundred keys, a restaurant booked out to March, and a founder ready to hand off the keys."

On his right sat a man with a silver mane and the stillness of a shark in a good suit.

Two associates in dark jackets flanked him, with legal pads.

Darrell's own lawyer sat across the table, sweating through his collar.

An empty chair stood at Darrell's left with a place card in front of it, written in an assistant's careful hand.

J. Vandenberg, Brand Director.

I picked up the card.

I looked at it for a moment.

Then I tore it neatly in half, set the pieces beside the bread plate, and sat down in her chair.

The silver-maned man stopped listening to Darrell in the middle of a word.

"Rhiannon," Darrell said.

His flute froze at his lips.

"Please go on," I said. "You were describing a window."

"What are you doing here?"

"Having dinner. Do they have the sea bass? I hear the sea bass is good."

The lawyer put his napkin over his mouth.

Winslow took a position at the velvet curtain with his hands folded in front of him.

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