Thomas set the tray on the chestnut table between our chairs.
He didn’t speak immediately.
He took a deep, clean breath of the sweet ocean air, looked out over the bay where two bald eagles were circling high on the thermal updrafts above the bluffs, and smiled—a real, wide, magnificent smile that held zero debts, zero lies, zero grief, and zero graves:
“The morning accounting reports just cleared the registry in Alexandria and Manhattan, Ethan,” Thomas said softly, his deep, steady voice filled with an un-shakeable, eighty-year peace that filled the quiet morning:
“The lines are straight.”
“The channels are clear.”
“The foundation stands upon solid stone.”
“The books are balanced down to the absolute last cent.”
I set my coffee mug down on the chestnut table.
Claire walked to my side, leaning down to wrap her strong, warm, living arms around my neck, pressing her cheek against mine. Her pulse beat steady against my throat at sixty-eight untroubled beats per minute.
