She had nothing to say to that, and I did not need her to.

I had not come here for an apology from Camilla Price.

What would an apology from her have been worth, anyway?

It would have cost her nothing in that moment and changed nothing about what had been done.

I had stopped, somewhere in the preceding weeks, wanting apologies from any of them.

Apologies are a currency the wronged are taught to crave and that the people who wrong them hand out cheaply, and I had traded all my appetite for them in exchange for something far more useful, which was a clean set of books and a company that would still be standing in the morning.

I had come here to save eight hundred jobs and to stop a thief, and the fact that stopping him also required standing in a ballroom while he was led out in front of his colleagues was not vengeance.