“I think we should seal our agreement with a drink,” Karl said and pressed the button on the table next to the sofa. “I’m smiling, Benson,” Karl said, “because Jimmy and I had discussed just this situation earlier - that you would want more money, and we were willing to offer you five million for you complicity.”

Benson’s disappointment was visible on his face. He had figured ten percent was not too strong a request. They were to inherit $30 million. So, three million seemed reasonable. He could have held out for five. Damn. Then he shrugged and sighed in resignation. He had won what he wanted. So, no great loss. He would live comfortably.

An old thin man, dressed formally in a tuxedo and tails, came into the room. He stood erect, with a face like Ichabod Crane - all knobs and angles, and a bald head except for a fringe of white hair.

Karl looked over to the man. “Hodges, bring us Daddy’s personal bottle.”

Hodges raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Karl cut his objections off with a firm look. “That’s right, his personal bottle of champagne. You know the one I mean. He’s not here anymore to drink it, Hodges. So we shall drink it for him.”

There was a moment where it looked as if Hodges was going to resist. Then the man’s expression became impassive, the face of an invisible servant. “Yes, sir,” he said. He slowly turned and left the room.

Jimmy watched the servant leave the room, “I never liked that sneaky old man.”

“Hodges?” Karl said, and chuckled. “He never liked us either.”