“Either you agree to a private settlement that leaves me in control of the voting shares,” Richard said, “or those documents are delivered to the media in exactly ten minutes.”

Before Nathan could answer, the heavy double doors of the boardroom clicked.

The brass handle began to turn slowly.

The handle turned slowly, the brass metallic click echoing through the silent boardroom.

The heavy mahogany door swung inward, casting a long shadow across the polished floorboards.

Mr. Hayes stood in the doorway, his gray wool coat damp from the Manhattan rain.

He carried a thick leather briefcase in his right hand, his knuckles red from the cold.

His eyes moved quickly from Richard’s tense posture to Nathan’s pale face, and finally to me.

“Am I interrupting, Richard?” Hayes asked, his voice calm and steady.

“You are late, Hayes,” Richard said, not turning back from the glass window.

“The traffic near the FDR was blocked,” Hayes replied, stepping into the room.

He closed the door behind him with a soft, decisive click that sounded like a trap snapping shut.