Elaine's last dinner in the penthouse was not supposed to be a celebration.
It was supposed to be a quiet meal—pho and dumplings and the white tablecloth that had belonged to my mother, the one Eleanor had insisted we use for everyday occasions because beauty was not just for special events. Elaine had requested nothing elaborate. She had a flight to London at 7 AM, and she needed to finish packing, and she had three conference calls scheduled before midnight because the corporate investigation world did not pause for family dinners. She had specifically told Sophie not to make a presentation. She had specifically told Kevin not to bring his decibel meter to the table. She had specifically told Nathan that she would listen to the revised bridge one more time before she left, but only if he promised not to make a formal performance out of it.
