Page 111 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“Do you?”

I straightened. “I believe so.”

“This firm has a reputation because we control risk. Clients may be emotional, opposing parties evasive. Partners may decide to hold the beginning stages of a negotiation in a hotel alcove because an intern and a dog created an opening.” Her gaze sharpened. “But the work remains the work. Chain of command and documentation matters.”

“I understand.”

“You were valuable last night because you were aware of what you didn’t know and didn’t overpromise.”

I sat completely still in my chair.

“Friday will be different,” she said. “It’s a formal meeting with counsel, collections representatives, and a director who has now had time to reconsider whether she offered too much too quickly.”

My stomach clenched. “She might walk it back?”

“She may try to narrow the scope and bring in additional internal objections. She may decide that being moved in the moment is not the same as being convinced by the file.”

I nodded. “What do you need from me?”

She slid a folder across the desk. “I want a clean memo today. No grand argument. Simply the timeline of contact with the museum, summary of last night’s discussion, open issues for Friday, and a separate section identifying possible non-litigation resolutions.”

I took the folder. “Structured return, temporary loan, revised display language, replica or digital access, educational partnership.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed slightly, but not unpleasantly. “Those are the right categories.”

“I can have it to you by three.”

“Have it by two-thirty.”

“Of course.”

“And Quinn?”

This time, she did smile. And it made my brain panic because I’d not prepared for positive reinforcement from a managing partner before breakfast.

“You earned being in the room last night. Now don’t let it make you sloppy.”

I swallowed. “I won’t.”

“I believe you.” She picked up her tea. “That’s why I’m giving you the memo.”

My grip tightened on the folder.

“Thank you,” I said, and this time I meant it with my whole exhausted, undercaffeinated soul.

“You can go.”

I stood.

As I reached the door, Helena spoke again. “And Quinn?”

I turned.

“If anyone asks, Max’s tie was strategically appropriate.”

I stared at her. She returned to her computer, leaving me to absorb the most astonishing sentence of my professional life.

“Yes,” I said carefully. “I’ll make sure he knows.”