A Number Exchanged

Outside, the air was cool. Instead of driving north to the estate, Jude pointed the Koenigsegg toward his midtown apartment, crossing the bridge back into Manhattan.

Traffic moved steadily. Near the eastern conservatory gardens, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk under a streetlamp.

An elderly man in a dark cashmere coat lay on the pavement, his face pale and breathing shallow.

Kneeling beside him was a woman in her early 20s wearing a trench coat, pleading with the people around her.

"Does anyone have a car nearby?" she asked, her voice shaking. "We need to move him."

The onlookers kept a couple of steps back, hesitating.

"Call 911, miss," a man said from the edge of the circle. "Don't move him until the ambulance gets here."

"There's no time," she insisted, looking down the empty avenue. "He needs his medication now."

Seeing the crowd back away, Jude pulled the car to the curb and stepped out.