My Son Called From A Police Station Crying

I was holding my paddle at a charity art auction, in a gallery full of morning light, when my son called me from a police station, crying, and told me his wife had just had him arrested. I set the paddle down, walked to the tall window, and made one phone call: freeze every account they touch, call in the note, and clear out their offices before noon. Her father sat two rows in front of me in a good grey suit, smiling at me over his shoulder, with no idea what had just happened to him.