34 OLIVIAPrescott arrives about ten minutes later and takes the seat next to Dad. We’re evenly spaced around the conference table, as if nobody wants to get too close to anyone else.
I used to play in Dad’s study as a child, under this very table. Its familiar mahogany surface is smooth and cool beneath my clammy palms. With every slight move of my hand, my wedding band ticks against the polished hardwood like a clock. Counting up or counting down, I’m not sure. I’m even less sure about why I haven’t taken off the ring and thrown it in the Hudson River.
With us four the only attendees, the atmosphere should be relaxed; we’re family, after all, with the exception of Prescott. But it’s even stiffer and stuffier than a typical business meeting. I can’t quite look any of these men in the eye
