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We go through the typical agenda, and then I notice something at the bottom of my sheet.
“What’s this? The expansion delegate?” I point to the small print on the agenda.
The board members exchange a glance.
“Well,” one of them says. “It’s about the firm’s expansion. The new office needs someone to man it. Since you’re the only senior partner available, we thought it ought to be you.”
“Me?” I repeat. “Jefferson?—”
“Is out on family leave for the next six months.”
Right. “Well, Peterson?—”
“Can’t tell his head from his ass.”
That’s also true.
“So, you’ll need to report with your team at the start of the next quarter. You’ll love France in the spring.”
“France?” I blurt out, my eyes widening.
Cheryl’s eyes narrow. “It’s an incredible opportunity for the firm,” she says slowly, like I might be missing that.
“I’m aware,” I say through tight lips. “What I don’t understand is why a junior partner heard about this before me.” I direct this last bit at the board themselves.
Trevor Hugh, a board member who has had his seat since before the accident that left me in charge, looks about as annoyed as he does unaffected.
“Cheryl came to the last board meeting,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Something you chose not to do.”
I grit my teeth. “The firm’s expansion?—”
“Requires a senior member,” Trevor finishes.
I shake my head. “I don’t see how?—”
“You’re perfect for the job,” another board member, Kathy Pilsen, pipes up. “You already have relations with the French firm we’ll be absorbing. You’ve spent ample time abroad?—”
“That was before,” I interrupt.
Her expression becomes immediately full of pity. “Before the accident?”
A hush falls over the room.
I do not like it when people talk about the car accident that took away my father and uncle. Though it has been several years, it still stings like it’s brand new.
I was the only survivor of that accident.
I was also the one driving.
Everyone in the room, barring perhaps Cheryl, knows this.
“Before my daughter was born.”
Kathy, at least, has the good graces to look embarrassed.
The room is stifling. I push back my chair, meaning to get up and leave.
“Dave,” Kathy says.
