A limo rolled up to the curved driveway. He checked his Piaget watch. Just on time. Waving goodbye to the receptionist, he stepped out the door, towing his Rimowa rolling baggage.
Anthony hurried out of the limo, rubbing his gloved hands together as he walked around to open the back door of the limo for him. “Welcome home, Mr. Prescott,” he greeted as he stood at attention in the frigid air of January in Upstate New York.
Nodding to the older man, he replied, “Thank you, Anthony. It’s good to be out.” That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Handing Anthony his baggage, Stanton slid into the seat beside his mother and placed a kiss on her right cheek. She squeezed his hand, giving him a quick but thorough once-over. “How are you doing, darling? You look well.”
“Muc
