Manhattan

Logan Ewing swore softly as the ringing phone broke his concentration and he missed beating his previous record at Solitaire by just six points. Who could possibly be calling at five o'clock on a Friday afternoon in August?

It turned out to be Steve Aubrecht, head of Corporate Finance and Logan's boss at Grey, Alcott, the investment banking firm. Steve boomed into his speakerphone.

"Logan, this guy from International is being a real pain in the ass. He keeps calling about some deal. Name's Saddam or something. No, not Saddam, Hussein. Anyway, I told him to call you instead."

Steve paused, then became somewhat apologetic.

"Sorry about this, but I've gotta go or I'll miss the jitney. Sue's bringing Amanda and Chris out for the weekend. See ya."

Since his wife had died from cancer the previous year, Logan's boss had been spending less time at work and more in East Hampton with his children and grandchildren.

Logan regarded the cards raining down his computer screen dourly. Even though he wasn't planning to start his own drive out to the Hamptons until after ten o'clock that evening, thus avoiding the traffic from the seasonal weekend exodus, neither did he want to hear from anyone Steve confused with Iraqi dictators. He hoped Hussein, or whoever he was, would postpone his call until Monday. He just wasn't in the mood.