Chapter 19: How Many Minutes

Nobody in the ballroom moved.

Delaney's smile held for a full second, and I watched it work to stay.

"Hannah," she said lightly, "I think the microphone is for toasts."

"It's a toast," I said. "I'm asking for the number."

"Is this a game?"

"Stewart," I said, and did not look away from her.

Down on the floor, at table four, Stewart stood.

His chair scraped.

He lifted a hand to the young man at the audio-visual desk, and the young man pressed a key.

The big white screen behind the dais, which had been showing the firm's centennial in slow photographs, went dark.

Then it filled with a pale green grid.

Across the top, in letters six inches high, it said H-TIME.

Owner: D. Stroud.

A murmur ran through the room.

"What is that?" said a voice at the back.

"That's my husband's calendar," I said into the microphone. "It's the one that runs my life. Delaney set it up for him when he made partner."

Delaney laughed.

It was a good laugh, bright and unbothered.

"It's a scheduling tool," she said to the room. "I run half the partners' calendars. Hannah is upset, and I understand."

"Scroll down, please," I said.

The young man scrolled.

The screen showed six years of Tuesdays, and under every one it said Hannah, 40 min.

Then it showed Max 20 min per visit. 5 hrs per year. Do not exceed.

Then Parents, 2 hrs. Do not exceed.

Then September.

Cafferty family, Binghamton, and on top of it, Client closing. Do not move.

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