11

KATHARINE

THE MORNING WAS TENSE FOR me—even Richard felt it. He had little in the way of personal items in the office, but I helped him pack up some awards, books, and a couple shirts he kept on hand for emergencies. I shook my head as I folded one, trailing my finger over the sleeve. All his shirts were custom made, and his initials RVR embroidered into the cuffs; a decadent touch only he could carry off. His items only filled two file boxes. His office was as impersonal as his condo. Glancing around, I realized it didn’t look any different. No one would notice, unless someone was looking.

A small piece of sculpture caught my eye and I stretched up, grabbing it off the shelf. “Did you want to take this, Richard?”

He focused his gaze on the sculpture, but before he could reply, his office door flung open and David strode in. He stopped dead, looking at us. Richard was leaning against his desk, his resignation letter in hand, me standing, holding the sculpture beside an open box. David