Adrian stood up so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor.

He walked down the center aisle and stopped at the end of my row.

“Claire,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “What are you doing?”

“I am buying the equipment, Adrian,” I said.

“That is my life’s work,” he said. “You’re taking it for a fraction of what it’s worth.”

“The market decided what it was worth,” I said. “You chose the debts that brought you here.”

A security guard near the door took a step toward us.

Adrian saw the guard and stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You planned this,” he said.

“I rebuilt my career,” I said. “The rest was your own doing.”

He looked at Julian, then at Margaret, but neither of them returned his gaze.

Without another word, Adrian turned and walked out of the room, his soles squeaking on the polished floor.

***

Three days later, the transfer of ownership was finalized at the county recorder’s office.

I stood in the lobby of the office suite on Michigan Avenue that had once housed the Chicago branch of Bennett Urban Systems.