Rosalind had the seat on his right, her shoulders straight against the carved chair back.

Next to her sat Brielle Foster in a slate gray dress, holding a crystal water glass in both hands low against her stomach.

My plate stayed completely empty.

Spencer cleared his throat and reached into the leather briefcase sitting on the floor.

He drew out a thick document bound in heavy dark blue card stock and laid it flat beside my place mat.

“The financial terms are set at fifty million dollars, paid in full by bank wire on signing,” Spencer said, his voice flat and deliberate.