He straightened his tie. “I’ll be available when you have questions. You have my card,” he said.

Then he turned and walked away, vanishing into the crowd. I couldn’t breathe in that ballroom.

I pushed through the service entrance and found an empty hallway near the kitchen. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

The sounds of celebration faded into a distant hum. My fingers shook as I broke the wax seal.

Inside were three pages of dense legal text, a notarized signature, and a date. September 12, 2019.

I read slowly. Carefully. The letters swam, but I forced them into focus.