Chapter 15: Par

The applause for the sale came in a wave, and I stood in the middle of it with wine in my hair.

My father lifted his glass to me over three hundred heads.

I lifted Clive's handkerchief back.

On Monday morning a courier brought me an invitation on heavy cream paper.

Clive's old firm. Ten o'clock. The corner conference room on the thirty-first floor.

"Re: Kestrel Holdings. A proposal from Cromwell Group."

Clive's name was on the attendee list, under "for the firm."

I called him from the street.

"They told me Friday," he said. "My last day on the payroll is Friday. They said come in Monday and they'd talk about severance."

"What does severance cost?"

"I think we're about to find out."

The corner room had two glass walls and a view straight down the harbor to the cranes in Canton.

Four partners sat on one side of the table in grey suits.

My father sat at the head in his blazer, with his class ring on and a coffee he hadn't touched.

Clive came in a minute after me and took the chair at the foot of the table, the one nearest the door.

"Iris," my father said. "Sit down. This won't take long."

The senior partner slid a document across the walnut to me.

He had a soft voice and a very good watch.

"Par," he said. "One hundred cents on the dollar for all six notes, paid at the closing of the sale on Labor Day."

I didn't touch it.

"In exchange, Kestrel consents to the sale and you resign your seat today."

"And?"

"A permanent non-disparagement. The company, the family and the events of this summer."

"The events of this summer," I said.

"The wedding," my father said. "And everything you've said about it into a microphone."

"Read the last page," the partner said gently. "I think you'll like it."

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