White pavilion, string quartet, a hundred and ninety people, and a program: drinks at three, Evelyn to speak at four, the twins to be brought out.

Christopher had invited everybody.

Two board members.

Two of his investors.

His banker.

A state senator’s chief of staff.

He had not, my aunt said, looked at his phone once.

He had received four emails from the chair of the audit committee since Friday evening and he had not opened any of them, because he was at his own coronation.