It felt strangely appropriate.
“Nine o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
The next morning, Ethan was already waiting when I arrived.
He stood as I walked in.
For one second, instinct almost made me hug him. Twenty-two years of habits do not disappear overnight.
Instead, I shook his hand.
His eyes filled briefly with sadness.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
We ordered coffee.
Neither of us touched it.
Finally, he spoke.
“I’ve spent the last week reading everything.”
“What do you mean by everything?”
“The financial records, trust agreements, partnership documents, and guarantees.”
He looked down.
“I had no idea.”
“I believe you.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I mean I had absolutely no idea how much you had done.”
I did not answer.
There was nothing left to add.
“My father spent two days going through old files,” Ethan continued. “And he cried.”
That surprised me.
Richard Bennett was not an emotional man. I had seen him cry only twice in more than two decades.
