Jo tuned the old man out momentarily and considered the situation. Joe Finch, Sr. and Old Pete had been the shrewdest pair of businessmen in the galaxy in their day; their counsel had pulled countless businesses out of the red and had started just as many others on their way. But Joe was long dead and Old Pete had carried that moniker for as long as Jo could remember. Was the current structure of the Federation really in danger, thereby endangering IBA, or was Old Pete suffering from a touch of senile paranoia?

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she said, interrupting Paxton’s reminiscent monologue. “I’ll have someone run a check on this Denver Haas character. If we can learn something about Haas, maybe we can get an idea of what deBloise has in mind and go from there.” Catching a nod of approval from Old Pete, she went on. “We have a suite of rooms upstairs for visiting clients, it’s empty now and you can use it for as long as you like. We’d be honored to have you as a guest.”

Jo pressed a button as she finished speaking and the receptionist came through the multi-hued door.

“Take Mr. Paxton to the guest suite,” she told her. “He’ll be with us for a while.”

“Let me know as soon as you hear anything,” Old Pete remarked, rising.

“You’ll know as soon as I do,” Jo assured him.

When she was alone, Jo sat behind her desk and stared at the two-dimensional painting of Joe Finch, Sr. that hung from the wall.

“I hope your old partner is wrong, Gran’pa,” she muttered.