No applause.
No family gasping behind us.
Twenty years could apparently end with less noise than a crystal glass breaking beside a kitchen sink.
Outside, Arthur waited.
“That is finished.”
“The personal claims?”
“Unsigned.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Victoria is waiting at the Manhattan office.”
“For what?”
“Final statement on the consulting company.”
“Let her give it.”
At 11:20, Victoria sat across from me holding a paper cup she never drank from.
Arthur put one page before her.
“Read.”
She did.
Touched the necklace.