“Harrison? Whose number is this?”
“I need to see you today. Not at my office. Not at my apartment. Somewhere Deborah doesn’t know.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“I can’t say on the phone.”
“Harrison.”
“Graham, please.”
Two hours later, they sat in the back of a crowded Italian coffee shop on Mulberry Street. Graham Sterling had the same gray eyes as his brother but none of the softness grief had carved into Harrison’s face. He listened without interrupting as Harrison said the impossible.
“Julian is alive.”
Graham’s expression changed from concern to alarm. “Harry—”
“I know how it sounds. I know.”
“Have you slept?”
Harrison placed the pocket watch on the table.
Graham stopped.
