Chapter 11: Midnight

At eleven-fifteen on the sixtieth night, the Dray boardroom smelled like coffee and expensive cologne.

Colm sat at the head of the table in the chairman's seat, which Roland had left empty.

Three lawyers in dark suits sat behind him, each with a laptop and a pen.

On the table in front of my father's chair lay the closing documents, tabbed in yellow.

The wall clock said 11:16.

Nolan stood at the window, with his back to the glass.

He had not sat down all night.

He had come in with a paper cup of tea for me.

He set it by my elbow without a word and retreated to the wall.

I had not touched it.

I had not poured it out either.

"Serena," Colm said, in the voice of a man who has done this before.

"We're out of time."

"I can see the clock," I said.

"Then I'll make it simple.

I have a revised offer.

The pensions stay, in full, for all two hundred and twelve."

I looked up.

"I'm told that was your concern," he said.

"You get the pension.

You get a thirty-day consulting role, and ten million for your trouble.

It's the best deal you will ever see."

One of his lawyers slid a single sheet across the table.

I read it.

I read it again.

It was well made.

It had a tidy paragraph about the pensions and a tidier one about severance.

"Where are Findlay and Fremont?" I said.

Colm smiled.

"Operational matters are not part of this agreement."

"They are part of the company."

"They're real estate, Serena.

I'll treat the people fairly."

"Like the card from the lawyers?" I said.

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