The coffee in the paper cup tasted like ash.
Christian set it on the edge of the bathroom vanity. A single brown drop ran down the side of the cardboard, pooling on the white marble. Tearing a square of tissue, he wiped the spill, pressing his thumb down until the stone was perfectly clean. He tossed the tissue into the bin. He spent another ten seconds ensuring the rim of the cup was completely dry.
Adjusting the cuff of his shirt, the fabric felt unusually stiff against his skin. He reached for his watch—his father’s silver Patek Philippe—and tried to fasten the clasp. The small metal pin slipped. He tried again. His fingers, usually steady enough to dismantle offshore hedge funds on a keyboard, felt numb and clumsy. The pin slipped a second time, scratching a thin red line into his wr
