“Then take the restructure.” He was counting on his fingers in the air.

“Eighteen down to eleven.

Eleven flat.

I’ll sign a personal guarantee, I’ll stay on for nothing, I’ll hand you the client list and the keys to the building.”

“It was never about the number,” Eleanor said.

He turned in a circle, hunting for a face that would meet his.

His people had drifted back toward the windows one by one, the way water finds the low side of a floor.

“Somebody say something,” he said.