“Thank you, Julian,” I said, handing the pen back to him.

“You earned this, Claire,” he said. “The waterfront project design is already drawing national attention.”

We walked to our respective cars under the dim yellow streetlights.

The night was quiet except for the distant hum of the Lake Shore Drive traffic.

***

The bankruptcy auction took place on Tuesday morning in a windowless room on the ninth floor of the federal building.

The air smelled of floor wax and stale coffee.

Rows of folding chairs faced a wooden podium where a government liquidator sat with a gavel.

I sat in the third row next to Julian.

Margaret Hale sat on my left, her hands folded over her handbag.

The door behind us clicked open, and Adrian walked in.

His gray suit looked loose on his shoulders, and he had missed a spot shaving near his jawline.

He did not have a lawyer with him.

He took a seat on the far side of the room, staring straight ahead at the podium.

He did not look at me.

The liquidator tapped his gavel twice.