The honesty of what they' just exchanged was exactly the thing that would read as real, because it was. And when they arrived beside Howell and the conversation began, Ethan talked about Maisie and Serena talked about her father's workshop and the way she'd learned what good joinery looked like from watching a man who never made anything worth selling but made everything worth keeping. And Richard Howell listened with the particular attention of someone who had been waiting all night to be in a conversation that wasn't strategic. By the time they moved on, Howell had shaken Ethan's hand twice. The evening moved around them.
Dinner service concluded. The auction began. Ethan sat beside Serena through the bidding and watched her quietly double a scholarship donation without making a show of it. Just a small note passed to the event coordinator. No announcement, no recognition.
He watched her spend 12 minutes with an elderly woman near the back of the room whose companion for the evening had taken ill, sitting with her without any appearance of having somewhere more important to be. He watched her remember the name of the events coordinator's daughter, who had recently started college and ask a specific question about it that meant she'd actually listened the first time. He watched all of this and said nothing about it because it wasn't the kind of thing that required comment. Around 9:30, they found a quiet stretch of wall near the east windows away from the main flow of the room. Outside, Chicago was doing what Chicago did in December.
a hard wind off the lake, making the lights on the street below shiver slightly. Serena was standing close enough that a passing observer would read them as a couple without question, and Ethan was aware of that, and also aware that the calculation behind the positioning had stopped feeling entirely like calculation somewhere in the last 2 hours. You're tired, he said. I'm always tired at these things, she said. That's different from what I said.
She looked at him. Yes, she said. I'm tired. How many of these do you do a year? Events of this type?
40, maybe. Between the foundation obligations in the board calendars and the investor relations, she stopped. More than I used to. Less than I probably should. Which way does it go?
Ethan asked. More than you used to, meaning you built up to this level. Or less than you probably should, meaning someone's been telling you to cut back. Both, she said. My assistant has been telling me for 3 years that I should hire a VP of external relations, so I'm not personally present at every significant event.
I keep not doing it. Because you don't trust someone else to do it or because you don't know what you'd do with the time. She was quiet for a moment. That's a specific question. It's a common problem, he said.
I almost hired an apprentice twice. Both times I found a reason it wouldn't work out. And did it work out? I didn't hire them, he said. So I'm not in a position to compare.
But he considered, "But I think I kept finding reasons because training someone to do what I do means admitting that what I do can be taught. And some part of me needed it to be just mine." He paused. " That's not a quality to be proud of." Serena looked at him steadily. "
No," she said. " But it's an honest one. Most honest things aren't particularly flattering." " No," she agreed. " They're not."
Across the room, Victor Langden was talking to Daniel Blackwood with an expression Ethan recognized from years of reading the body language of people who were about to complicate his day. The look of a man who had made a decision and was moving toward executing it. Ethan watched him for a moment and then looked at Serena. He's changing his approach, Ethan said. Serena followed his sighteline without making it obvious.
A pause. What do you mean? He's been observing all evening, Ethan said, running calculations, same as you. But the conversation he's having right now is different than the ones earlier. Earlier, he was managing people.
That one looks like he's committing to something. Serena said nothing, but her posture changed slightly. The auction's almost over, Ethan said. What comes after? Open remarks from the foundation chair.
Possibly a few words from me, if they ask. Then the evening winds down over the next hour. Victor's going to do something during the remarks, Ethan said. You're speculating. I'm reading the room.
He said, "It's what I do. He's had all evening to watch us, and he hasn't made a move, which means either what he's seen has changed his plan or he's been waiting for a specific moment. And a man like that doesn't give up his moment." Serena was quiet for a moment, and Ethan could see her running her own assessment and arriving, he thought, at a similar conclusion. " He has a microphone moment in mind," she said quietly.
to herself as much as to him. That's my read, Ethan said. She looked at him. The candlelight was doing something to the lines of her face that made her look for just a moment less like a CEO and more like someone who had been carrying a large thing for a long time and was feeling the specific weight of it. Are you actually good at this?
She asked. Reading situations. Depends on the situation, he said. Human ones, usually, yes. Financial ones, no.
Legal ones, absolutely not. But human ones. I had a daughter to read from the age of four, he said with no backup. You get good at it fast. She nodded slowly.
Then she looked back toward Victor and her expression settled into something that was not fear and not exactly composure either. Something more like the quiet before a decision. Whatever he's planning, she said, I need you to stay calm. I'm always calm, Ethan said. You were anything but calm 40 minutes ago when Callum Bryce asked about the bookshelf.