My assistant, Cody Dawes, stopped me at his desk, said, “Morning, Jack. We need to go over some things-”

“Just the red flags, Cody. I’m still dragging my tailpipe.”

“Sure, okay, uh. I’m giving you my notice.”

“What? What’s the problem? I thought you were happy here.”

“I got a speaking part in a Ridley Scott film. I’ve got lines.”

He grinned broadly, clasped his hands together, and maybe jumped off the ground. I stuck out my hand, shook his, and said, “Good for you, Cody. Congratulations.”

“I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve lined up people for you to see. I screened them all myself.”

I sighed. “Okay. What’s next?” It was half past eight a.m. in Los Angeles, meaning it was half past five p.m. in Stockholm. My circadian rhythms were still on Central European time.

“Mr. Noccia is here. I had to put him in your office.”

“I thought I’d have a little time before he got here.”

“He was waiting at the curb, Jack. Inside a Mercedes with three other guys you wouldn’t want to marry your sister. I opened the front door. He said he wanted to come in, so I brought him upstairs. Judgment call.”

“Do you still do coffee?”

“Yes, I do,” Cody said with a grin.

I went into my office.

It’s got two sections; my work space at one end, a seating and meeting space at the other. Carmine Noccia was sitting in a chair by my desk.