TWELVE
Oliver entered the lobby of the twenty-fifth floor of the Macon Wesley Building filled with joy and sadness. Clutched tightly in his hand was a crystal vase filled with a dozen roses in the color of dark pink. Oliver had carefully selected the bouquet as a sign of gratitude and admiration for a woman who had guided his career as a timid associate to a full partner in the firm.
“Are you ready for your second career?” asked Oliver, as he whisked past Lucille DeMent, who stood next to a large table in the center of a conference room suitably appointed for a retirement party.
“I’m a little reluctant, but I’m prepared for a new beginning,” she said. She smiled with a teardrop clinging carefully to the corner of her eye. “I’m really going to miss everyone.”
“Nonsense,” said Camill
