Adrian was quiet for exactly forty-five seconds.
I counted. Not deliberately, it was the kind of counting that happened automatically when you were watching someone process something and needed to know how long to give them before the silence became its own problem.
At forty-five seconds, he stood up and walked to the window of the conference room.
The city below was doing its usual indifferent noon performance. He stood with his back to me and I looked at the line of his shoulders and thought about the photograph on my phone of Claire Donovan's hand on Cole Barrett's arm, the easy familiarity of two people who knew each other well, walking into Victor Hale's building like they belonged there.
"How long were you together?" I said. I kept my voice neutral. Informational. The question o
