The day I flew out to Valebrook, Paul was down on his knees on the floor of that rented room.
Raymond filled me in later.
He holed up in that cramped little studio for a whole week and never once set foot outside.
The company stalled out, investors bailed, partners walked. He didn't lift a finger over any of it.
He was going through the things I'd left behind.
Or, to be exact, I hadn't left a thing behind. Nothing except that ninety-nine-dollar silver necklace.
It lay quietly on the tray in the entryway, its chain bearing a deep wear mark. I wore it for three years straight, never once taking it off.
Paul clutched it in his palm and opened our old chat history. He scrolled up, one message at a time.
He scrolled back to the first year, to a photo I snapped of a discounted steak at t
