He stood to greet me, shaking my hand and helping me with my chair. A waiter materialized to take our order, a bagel and orange juice for Mulcahey and an omelet and Diet Coke for me.

To date, I’d had few direct interactions with Mulcahey. As COO, his role was exactly what it sounded to be. He was the guy charged with running Grenthaler’s day-to-day business. Most of my work with Grenthaler was either about acquisitions and divestitures or about financial planning-there’d never been much need for the two of us to work together. Still, I knew him by reputation as a good, strong manager. He kept everything running smoothly, and there was a lot to be said for that.

“So, Rachel,” he began, running a hand through his close-cropped, curly gray hair before folding his arms in front of him on the table. “I’m glad you could make it this morning.”

“I’m glad you could make it, too,” I replied. “It sounds like we both have matters to discuss. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, as you probably know, I’ve been acting as interim CEO since Tom passed away.”

“Things must be pretty frenetic for you right now.”

“It’s a big job, and to be frank, I’m not the man for it. I’m happy to be the caretaker until we can find somebody better, but it’s really not what I’m all about. I’ve always been more of a manager than a leader.” Brian was in his early sixties, and he’d risen through the company ranks in a slow but steady way over the course of three decades. I admired that he had such a good handle on his own limitations, although I suspected he was underestimating himself. Still, since I was usually surrounded by people who were far more likely to overestimate themselves, his modesty was refreshing.

“What does the board think?” Grenthaler’s board of directors would be charged with appointing the next CEO.

“We’re having an emergency meeting tomorrow morning to discuss it.” I nodded, wondering what was coming next.

“I think we both know who should probably be the next CEO.”

“Sara?” I asked.

“Yes. She’s still relatively young and inexperienced, but it’s what her father wanted and it’s what Tom wanted.”

“What will the board think?”

“Probably that she’s too young and inexperienced. That said, the board is weighted in her favor.” Grenthaler’s board included Mulcahey, Edward and Helene Porter, Barbara Barnett, and a handful of outsiders who had been handpicked by Samuel Grenthaler and Tom Barnett.

“There’s probably a provisional solution,” I pointed out. “Sara only has another semester left at school. You could stay on until she graduates, and for a year or two after, until she’s really ready to take over.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. And I believe that most of the board would be amenable to that.” He hesitated.

“But?” I prompted.

“There may be a faction on the board that won’t be so amenable.”

I had a feeling about where he was going. “Barbara Barnett?”

He nodded. “I think she’s going to try to get Adam named to the position.”

That hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been more concerned about Barbara selling her shares than about her trying to get more involved with the company, and to bring Adam with her. I thought for a moment. “Look, Barbara has a significant stake in the company, but it’s not much compared to what Sara has. I don’t know how much influence she’d really be able to have over the decision.”

“It doesn’t seem like she could have much. But some of the external board members might be persuaded. Adam knows the company as well as anyone but Sara and me. And he’s got a few more years of business experience than she does.”

“Not really. He’s always been in finance.”

“We know it’s not the same, but he’s pretty impressive on paper.”

I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that Adam sure wasn’t impressive off paper, but I guessed Mulcahey was thinking the same thing.

Brian interrupted my thoughts. “Either way, Barbara does own ten percent of the company, and she may be able to swing some of the other directors around to her point of view. I’m worried that tomorrow’s discussion could get fractious. I was hoping you could come to the meeting and sit in. I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but you worked closely with Tom and the board on most of the big decisions we’ve made in the last few years. It would be great to get your input, not only tomorrow but over the next month or so as we get things sorted out.”

“That’s fine,” I agreed, realizing that yet another opportunity for a leisurely room-service breakfast morning with Peter was going to pass us by. Which was just as well, since he would probably have to rush off to meet Abigail anyhow. At the same time I realized that there was a tiny little part of me that was thinking how convenient it might be to spend more time in Boston. I felt an imaginary pulse on my forehead, as if the scarlet A were back.

The waiter arrived with our food. “Now what was it you wanted to discuss?” Brian asked as I cut into my omelet.

“It almost seems less important now that you’ve told me about Barbara. But have you been following the stock recently?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “That’s not my area. And I’ve been so busy with everything else.”

“There’s been some strange movement. I can’t imagine that it’s much to worry about given that the majority of the company is privately held. But I’m trying to get in touch with Barbara to discuss what she intends to do with her shares. Yesterday didn’t seem like the right time.”

“No, probably not. But I’m glad that you’ve got your eye on it.”

“I’m looking into it,” I told him. “I’ll be sure to keep you posted. And what you’ve said about Barbara is reassuring. Even if the CEO question ends up being a fight, if she does want Adam to have the job, it sounds like she intends to stay involved and to hold on to her shares.”

Brian offered to drop me off on his way back to Grenthaler’s headquarters in Kendall Square, but I still had time before meeting with the Porters, so I decided to walk. I could use the fresh air, and probably the exercise, too, although I generally tried to keep my exercise accidental or incidental. The path through the Public Garden looked particularly icy and slushy, so I stuck to the sidewalk on Arlington Street.

I glanced casually across the street as I passed the Ritz on the opposite side. And then I did a double take.

Three men were being ushered into a taxi, and from where I stood I thought I recognized them all.

My eyes were probably playing tricks on me, but the Caped Avenger’s wardrobe was pretty distinctive. Not a lot of grown men wearing capes these days.

But what was he doing with Adam Barnett and Scott Epson?

C uriosity and disbelief got the better of me, so I darted across Arlington Street, but I lost precious seconds trying to avoid being run over. By the time I reached the Ritz, the men I’d seen were gone, the taillights of their taxi flashing red as it made the turn onto Boylston.

The hundred yards or so I’d walked and then dashed had sated my need for exercise, so I let the doorman at the Ritz hail me a cab, and I gave the driver the Porters’ address. I pulled out my Blackberry and called my office on the way. No, my assistant assured me, the Caped Avenger hadn’t called. Maybe he was in Boston -it was possible, after all. But with Scott Epson? And Adam Barnett? It couldn’t be. That would be just too weird. I really must be in need of glasses. It was simply the power of suggestion-they’d both been on my mind that morning. And dorky white men all tended to look alike, especially from a distance.

Ten minutes later I was climbing up the stone steps to the front door of the Porters’ brick town house in Louisburg Square, one of the more upscale parts of upscale Beacon Hill, a neighborhood that was home to John Kerry, Amos Hofstetter, and a number of characters in Henry James’s novels. The walk in front of the house and the steps themselves looked as if they’d not only been swept but polished-the dirty slush and black ice that decorated Boston ’s streets in January had been exiled from this pristine spot.