Chapter 20: Everything on the Table

At two o'clock on Wednesday the ballroom on the fortieth floor held two hundred people and nine cameras.

Eleven partners sat at the long table at the front. Chiara sat in the chair at its head.

She wore black, and the emerald, and an expression of grave sorrow.

"Thank you all for coming," she said. "This is painful for everyone. We are here to ratify the suspension of our founder."

I stood at the back of the room beside Lucia.

Miles was at the hotel with a sitter. I had checked my phone twice.

"Before we vote," Chiara said, "I'd like to read a statement."

The doors opened.

Marcello walked in.

He wore a charcoal suit and no tie. The managing partner walked at his shoulder, carrying a small black speaker.

"Mr. Ferraro is suspended," Chiara said. "He cannot be in this room."

"He was invited," said the managing partner.

"By whom?"

"By me. As a partner with a vote. I'd like to table a motion before yours."

"Out of order."

"It's a short motion," the managing partner said. "It is to play a recording."

Chiara's father rose from his seat at her right hand.

"Let it be played."

"Papa..."

"Let it be played, Chiara."

The managing partner set the speaker on the table and pressed a button.

My own voice came out first, small and steady.

You wrote the email.

Then Chiara's, bright and unhurried in the silence of the ballroom.

I didn't say that.

You said it did its job.

I said a lot of things. Nobody will believe you, darling.

The room did not move.

And I did. The email did its job for eight years. It can do one more month.

She had said it, in her own voice, in front of two hundred people and a row of lenses.

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