I did not.

I let it stand in the air of that terminal, ugly and public, and I watched it do the one thing he had not intended.

I watched it travel across Fiona’s face — Fiona, who had lost her own husband young, who had known my father, who had known me since I was a child — and I watched whatever last flicker of doubt she might have been holding for the man she had helped hire go out completely, snuffed by the sheer casual cruelty of what he had just chosen to say to save himself.

He had reached for the weapon that always worked on the quiet wife, and he had forgotten that the quiet wife was no longer the only person in the room.