It was not a dramatic sound. Simply wood on tile, the mild announcement of a person rising from a seat. But in the stillness of the room it drew every eye, and Emily paused and turned, and so did Ethan, and so did Vanessa, and so did the lawyer, all of them looking toward the back of the conference room.
None of them, in the business of the proceeding, had paid particular attention to the man sitting quietly against the far wall. He had been there since before Emily arrived—she was the only one who knew this, because she had walked in and seen him and given him a small, private look and he had returned it, and then she had sat down and they had said nothing to each other, because this was what she had asked of him. To be there. To be silent. Not to intervene. He had kept those conditions with perfect discipline for the duration of the meeting, as he always kept conditions he agreed to, because he was, above all other things, a man of his word.
But now, the papers were signed, the meeting was over, and the man in the charcoal suit—a different charcoal than Ethan’s, quieter, more expensive in the way that truly expensive things are always quieter—rose from his chair.