We were back on Lexington Avenue by eleven-fifteen.
The morning had gone cool and bright, the kind of March day that couldn’t decide between winter and spring and had settled on both simultaneously, sharp air and clear light and the particular energy of a city that was always moving regardless of what any individual within it had just done or said or set in motion.
I stood on the pavement outside the building for a moment and let the wind off the street hit my face.
Lillian stood beside me. Lucas was just behind us, hands in his jacket pockets, giving us the space of a man who understood that what had just happened in that conference room required a moment of quiet absorption before anything else.
“How do you feel?” Lillian asked.
I thought about the question seriously rather than def
