Critical Read Free Page B

to meet with you for a few moments without the knowledge of the principals of Angels Healthcare. He told me to say that he is concerned the principals of the company are not following the letter of the law. Now, I’m not sure what that means, but he said you would.”
    Paul nodded again as he tried to clear his alcohol-addled brain. Here was the issue he’d been struggling with solo for weeks, and suddenly he was being offered unexpected support. He cleared his throat and asked, “When would he like to meet?” Paul bent down to try to see into the interior of the black sedan, but he couldn’t.
    â€œRight now,” Franco said. “Mr. Dominick has a yacht moored in Hoboken. We can have you there in fifteen minutes, you can have your talk, and then we’ll bring you back to your door. It will be an hour at most.”
    â€œHoboken?” Paul questioned, wishing he had skipped the cocktails. It seemed to be getting harder and harder to think. For a second, he couldn’t even remember where Hoboken was.
    â€œWe’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Franco repeated.
    Paul wasn’t wild about the idea, and hated being put on the spot. He was a bean counter who liked to deal with numbers, not hasty value judgments, particularly when suffering a buzz. Under normal circumstances, Paul would have never gotten into a car at night with total strangers for an evening meeting on a yacht with a man he’d never met. But in his current muddle and with the prospect of being abetted in his business decision-making by such an important player as Vinnie Dominick, he couldn’t resist. With a final nod, he took a wobbly step toward the open car door. Angelo helped by taking Paul’s laptop and handing it back to him when Paul was settled.
    There was no conversation as they drove back in the direction of New York. Franco and Angelo sat in the front seat, and from Paul’s vantage point in the back, their heads were dark, motionless, two-dimensional cutouts against the glare of the oncoming traffic. Paul glanced out the side window and wondered if he should have at least gone into his house to let his wife know what he was doing. He sighed and tried to look on the bright side. Although the interior of the car reeked of cigarettes, neither Franco nor Angelo lit up. Paul was at least thankful for that.
    The marina was dark and deserted. Franco drove directly to the base of the main pier, and all three got out. Since it was off-season, most of the boats were out of the water, standing on blocks, and covered with white, shroudlike vinyl covers.
    There was no conversation as the group walked down the pier. The cold air revived Paul to a degree. He took in the nighttime beauty of the New York City skyline, marred by the fact that in the foreground, the Hudson River looked more like crude oil than water. The gentle waves made soft, lapping sounds against the pilings and the refuse-strewn shoreline. A slight odor of dead fish wafted in the breeze. Paul questioned the rationality of what he was doing but felt it was too late to change his mind.
    Halfway out the pier they stopped at the mahogany stern of an impressive yacht with the name Full Speed Ahead stenciled in gold letters across it. The lights were ablaze in the main saloon, but no one could be seen. A row of fishing rods stuck out of cylindrical holders along the afterdeck’s gunwales like bristles on the back of a giant insect.
    Franco boarded and immediately scampered up a starboard ship’s ladder and disappeared from view.
    â€œWhere’s Mr. Dominick?” Paul asked Angelo. Paul’s unease ticked upward without seeing the investor.
    â€œYou’ll be chatting with him in two minutes,” Angelo reassured him while gesturing for Paul to follow Franco across the narrow gangplank. With resignation, Paul did as he was told. Once on board, Paul had to steady himself as the large craft moved up and down with the gentle