A servant entered carrying a folder.
Dark leather.
Heavy.
It was placed in front of Charles.
At the same time, two men in black suits stepped quietly into the room and stood near the wall.
Charles looked at them.
Then at the folder.
Then, slowly, at me.
The temperature in his eyes changed.
“Mia.”
I kept my hands folded in my lap.
Old Mr Yale spoke before I could.
“She came to me because you refused to handle this cleanly.”
Charles’s jaw tightened.
“What is this?”
“Termination of the service agreement.”
The words fell onto the dining table like a knife onto porcelain.
For a second, Charles did not move.
Then he reached for the folder and opened it.
His eyes scanned the first page.
Then the second.
His face changed.
Not dramatically.
Charles had too much pride for that
