“What do you do to keep yourself grounded?” she interrupts.
Adam shifts in his seat, and Tegan and I exchange a look. Something has changed; we can both tell. Salem’s posture is still easy, her voice still calm and sweet.
But somehow it’s like watching an animal stalk prey.
“Well, I have my family, of course, my wife and three children. That’s any man’s most profound blessing.”
“Of course. And your hobbies, yes? I understand you’re widely known as a collector.”
Dennis’s expression flickers. A tiny, fleeting pinch of discomfort.
“It’s what I tell our guests here at the institute; it’s so important to have something outside of—”
“Antiques, I think I read? Mostly jewelry and precious figurines?”
Dennis doesn’t respond. I am pretty sure I’ve leaned forward in my seat. I have a vision of myself from long ago, my phone in my lap as I drove, one earbud in so I could listen to the latest episode ofThe Last Con of Lynton Baltimore.
She’s so good at this it’s criminal.
“Dennis, I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.”
Some of Ashley’s cups clink together on her tray.
“And I’m sure you know why I don’t want to follow you there,” he says, his voice cool now.
“It’s important for my audience that I address it. It’s important to your history here. And if people have misunderstood, here’s your chance to clear it up, set the record straight.”
“Ms. Durant, this was—what, a decade ago now? I’ve set it straight. It was a small and insignificant matter. I paid all the money back to the clinic using my own personal funds within six months, and the board supported my staying on.”
“And the necklace you purchased?” Salem asks. “Is it . . . still in your collection?”
Dennis stands. Ashley stiffens behind her cart.
“I think that’s all the time I have for you today, Ms. Durant. I certainly don’t know what this could have to do with a profile regarding my status as a ‘healthcare disruptor,’ but I hope you have what you need.”
“Speaking of disruptors,” she says, as though he hasn’t told her the interview is done, as though he isn’t standing stiffly, his face a mask of barely contained rage. “Can I ask who first brought you the neck—”
“Goodbye, Ms. Durant.”
He turns on his heel and walks out.
For what must be the longest moment in recorded history, we’re all completely silent.
And then Salem calmly says, “You can shut off the recording, Hawk.”
“It’s not on, Salem,” he replies, in the closest thing to a snap that I imagine Adam Hawkins is capable of.
She blinks across the table at him.
“I’m not recording someone if you’ve told them it’s for something else. What are you doing?”
She shrugs, and ignores his question. “Fine. It doesn’t matter. It’s clear enough from that exchange that he was here.”
Lynton, she means, though I don’t know if anything is clear enough, at least not to me. Or to Tegan, judging by the confused look on her face. Did Lynton Baltimore come here for some kind of treatment and then somehow run a fake-antique grift on the institute’s CEO? Did my mother—
“Wait,” someone says, and I’m pretty sure that all of us look up at Ashley with identical expressions of surprise. A foursome again, united by our forgetting that there’s still a stranger in the room with us.
“Wait,” she repeats, her eyes widening, lit with excitement. “You’re . . . you’reSalemDurant?”
