The lawyer arrives while they are still on your face.
He is young enough to be insultingly confident, wearing a gray suit too crisp for empathy and the expression of a man sent to deliver someone else’s cruelty with billable efficiency. He doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t sit. He drops a thick folder on the white linen in front of you as if serving notice to a debtor.
“Mr. Vargas,” he says, “I’ve been instructed to ensure you receive these tonight.”
The words are smooth.
Practiced.
You know this species of man. Men who think proximity to aggression makes them formidable. Men who confuse messenger work with moral distance. Your children hired him because none of them had the spine to face you themselves while the yacht lights reflected in their glasses.
“What is it?” you ask.
Your voice surprises even you. It is rougher than usual, scraped hollow.
He adjusts his cuffs. “A petition regarding accelerated transfer of voting authority, an emergency request for temporary board intervention, and notice of intent to challenge your capacity to govern the company in the event of continued instability.”
You stare at him.
