The room waited because no one in it was stupid enough to mistake my stillness for indecision.
By 8:07, Ryan was in the elevator.
I knew because security texted Maris, and Maris angled the phone just enough for me to see the message without breaking posture. He had gotten past the garage using his company badge and was now on his way upstairs in the same tuxedo trousers from the gala, a wrinkled white shirt, and whatever remained of the ego that got him through most doors faster than preparation. Good.
I wanted him tired. Wanted him underfed on certainty. Wanted him to walk in still believing he had enough residual male authority to make me explain myself.
The boardroom doors opened without announcement.
Ryan stepped in hot with fury and half-dressed bravado, one hand already lifting as if to command the room before he had even processed it. Then he saw the table. The directors. Legal. HR. Security. Maris. And finally me, seated at the head under the company seal, my hands folded over a leather folder, my wedding ring gone.
He stopped so abruptly it looked like impact.