Megan disappeared into the other room, carrying the papers with her. Leaning back in his chair, Jack puzzled over her choice of words. “Snared” implied some sort of trap. While “Father” needed no explanation, the casual remark caught Jack by surprise. He should have connected Megan’s name with that on the door. Trying to escape his own family business, he had stumbled into another.

“Father will see you now,” announced Megan, reappearing from the other room. As Jack walked past her, she reached out and gave him a light squeeze on his forearm, quickening his pulse. “Good tuck,” she whispered.

The inner office was as sparsely furnished as the reception area. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the far wall, offering a breathtaking view of downtown Chicago. Dozens of framed and signed photographs of famous people covered the other three walls. In one corner, a huge rubber tree stretched to the ceiling. There were no rows of file cabinets, banks of phones, or any of a hundred other things Jack associated with a major business. He couldn’t help wondering what type of investments Ambrose Ltd. handled.

A large ebony desk, devoid of clutter, dominated the room. Behind it, in a huge, black leather and wood chair, sat the only other occupant of the room, a slender, elderly man dressed in a pin-stripe business suit. The harshness of his lean features and weather-browned skin was offset by his twinkling brown eyes. His well-groomed long mane of silver hair matched his sharply pointed snow-white beard.

“Make yourself comfortable, Jack,” said the man, casually waving to a chair in front of his desk. “We have a lot to discuss.” He patted the test papers. “You impressed Megan with your knowledge, and I can see why. I think you’re the man we need.”

Jack grinned. Today was his lucky day. Gone were his nightmares of returning to New Jersey and the import-export empire. Chicago was his hometown now.

He sobered almost instantly. There had been no mention of salary. Or exactly what position he was being offered.