The Loma Prieta quake shook the Bay Area, the Berlin Wall crumbled, and the demise of Kricken & Associates forced me to set up my own agency. I got myself a fancy two-room suite in a high-rise building on MacArthur Boulevard, not far from John Wayne Airport. An attorney’s practice to the left and a tax consultant’s to the right set off my office between them. The embossed sign on the outer door said in gilded letters: Benson Keirstad, Investigations. My savings would pay the rent for maybe three months, if I didn’t eat, but I wasn’t too worried, having snatched old man Kricken’s client list before anyone else could get their dirty hands on it. In the late morning of my third day of self-employment, I was busy making solicitation calls when I heard the bell jingle in the waiting room. Linda Cramer and Ron Mayer looked like the quintessential Orange County couple—well-to-do, stylish, arrogant, and in a constant state of bickering. At first I silently cursed her for wearing such an offensive perfume.
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