I walked toward the door of his private office.

The heavy oak door was cool to the touch.

“Ava,” he called out.

I stopped, my hand on the brass handle.

I did not turn around.

“I loved you,” he said.

It was the first time he had ever said those words to me.

He had said them to reporters, to shareholders, and to his lawyers, but never to me in private.

“No, Elias,” I said, looking back over my shoulder. “You loved having an ally you thought would never fight back.”

He sat in the shadows of his desk, the desk lamp casting a long silhouette across the carpet.

He had no arguments left.

I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

The air in the outer office was colder, smelling of fresh paint and air conditioning.

My assistant, Clara, was waiting by the elevators.

She held my coat in her hands.

“Did he sign?” she asked quietly.

“He signed,” I said.

She handed me the dark wool coat.

“The lawyers in Boston are ready,” Clara said. “They are waiting for your call to file the incorporation papers.”