His black silk bow tie was slightly crooked, but his posture was rigid.

“Julian, we need five minutes in the office before dinner starts,” I said, stopping three feet from his elbow.

He didn’t turn his head right away.

He took a slow sip from his tumbler, then let out a short, deliberate laugh that caught the attention of the couple standing by the archway.

“My wife is having another one of her episodes, gentlemen,” Julian said, lifting his glass toward the directors with a smooth, dismissive wave.

“Her hormonal anxiety has been running high since the fifth month.”