The reports were done.
This was the problem. Every report was done, every decision had been made, every item on the operational calendar for the week had been addressed, and Dacre had sat in a meeting on Tuesday and read the same page of the contract addendum three times and then looked up to find that four minutes had passed and he had no memory of them.
He had excused himself at the break and stood in the corridor outside the conference room and looked at the wall until the pulling sensation in his chest settled into its baseline level, which was no longer what Dacre would have called low.
Wednesday he had handled better. He had gotten through a full morning of calls and a site review at the Crescent Fang-contracted building on Fifth and made it to 3 p.m. before he realized he'd been
