“Your father’s security guard is still stationed at the end of the hall, Mrs. Pierce,” the nurse said over the intercom.

“Tell him I am going to the hospital gift shop,” I replied.

I took the service elevator down to the basement parking garage, avoiding the main lobby where my father’s associates usually waited.

The air in the garage was cold and tasted of car exhaust and wet concrete.

I got into my small station wagon, the engine starting with a familiar, low rattle.

The drive into the city was slow, the windshield wipers slapping rhythmically against the glass as the rain grew heavier.

The high-rise buildings of downtown Philadelphia rose through the grey mist like silent stone giants.

I parked in a public lot two blocks away from the Hartwell Civic Group’s old territory, near Nolan’s modest office building.

I pulled my hood up and walked quickly along the wet pavement, my boots splashing in the shallow puddles.

The lobby of Nolan’s building was quiet, the marble floors polished to a dull shine.

The security guard at the desk recognized me and nodded, waving me through the turnstiles without asking for a badge.