“David.” Carl’s voice cracked on the first syllable. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“This is—you can’t—”
“Ten minutes ago I walked into this room,” said David, “and I heard a man tell his wife of twenty-three years that she had been nothing more than a housekeeper.”
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Marcus finally lowered his eyes from the ceiling.
“So I thought,” David went on, “that you might like to have the equipment.”
“That’s a private matter,” Carl said. He tried to laugh, and it came out like a cough. “Laura’s overreacting. She’s emotional, she always—”
“You made it public, Carl.”
“I—”
“You did it in front of a hundred and twenty of your colleagues, with a glass in your hand.”
David turned slowly, and he found me with his eyes across the room.
“Well, son,” he said. “What did you expect?”
