Page 61 of Omega’s Fold

I take the letter. I fold it once, carefully. I put it in the inside pocket of my jacket.

“Thank you, Richard.”

“Thank yourself,” he says again.

We shake hands again at the door and I close it behind me on the way out.

I take a deep breath. I do want to know what’s happening out there, although in my heart, I already know. The company has its flaws but thoroughness isn’t one of them. We have a shit-hot legal team who specialize in handling objections from local people.

The development is going ahead. The only question is whether Wyatt has completely run out of water yet. If he hasn’t, he will.

The bigger question is why he wouldn’t take the money. The Linden Group always puts aside money for that kind of thing. He’s just being stubborn.

Still, instead of going back to my own office, I walk toward the south side of the floor, where Brent Payley’s office is, two doors down from the senior associates’ bullpen.

His door is open and he’s on the phone.

He looks up when I appear in the doorway. He grins at me and waves me in and points at the phone and rolls his eyes, and I stand in the doorway and I wait.

He finishes the call. He hangs up. He stands. He comes round the desk with both hands held out.

“Duffield. Look who it is. The man of the hour.”

“Brent.”

“I just heard. Richard’s PA was in here ten minutes ago with the Christmas cards, she let it slip.” He pumps my hand. “Congratulations. About time. I mean that. About time.”

“Thanks.”

“Sit. Sit. I’ve got five minutes before my next call. What can I do for you?”

I sit. He sits. The room is smaller than mine and it has the wrong light in it, fluorescent rather than the warmer fittings the senior offices have. Brent has hung four framed prints on the wall behind his desk that are all of city skylines from the same rough angle, three of them from cities he has never been to.

“Just wondering how Parish Ridge is going,” I say. “We didn’t get a chance to catch up.”

He pulls a face.

“Oh, God. Don’t make me think about Parish Ridge.”

“That bad?”

“That place. Honestly, Duffield. I don’t know how you stuck it for two weeks, match or no match. The first day and I was begging to come home by lunchtime.”

“It’s not that bad,” I say laughing despite myself.

“It is exactly that bad.” He laughs. He sits back. “I saw you, you know. At the meeting. The second town meeting, the one you came to. I saw you walk in with your rancher. I almost lost it. I had to look at the lectern for thirty seconds and breathe.”

“You hid it well.”

“I was trying not to laugh. I’ll tell you that for nothing. You with the rancher. Sat in the back with the wife of the mayor. I was going to text you for two days afterwards and I forgot.”

“It’s fine.”

“How are you? Really. After all that?”

“Fine. It didn’t work out. The Bureau closed the file.”

“Probably for the best, my friend.”