It doesn’t feel intimidating. It feels… contained. Like problems come here to be sorted, not judged.
A man steps out from behind a glass door a moment later. Mid-fifties, tailored suit, glasses perched low on his nose. He smiles easily.
“Mrs. Dupree,” he says, offering his hand in turn. “I’m Tyrone Billings.”
His handshake is firm and professional.
We’re ushered into a conference room with a table that seats six and a view of the city that feels deliberately unromantic. Tyrone gestures for us to sit and takes his place across from us, already opening a slim folder.
“Congratulations,” he says. “I understand there’s been a significant change recently.”
I smile. "Thank you."
“I’ve reviewed the information you provided,” he says, looking at me now. “Your money is currently sitting in a few accounts. We’ll put it to work for you while keeping it protected.”
Something in my chest loosens just a fraction.
He continues, explaining his approach—oversight, transparency, independence. He speaks plainly, without jargon, pausing when my expression shifts like he’s checking to make sure I’m following.
I am. Mostly.
But my thoughts drift anyway.
Tyrone’s voice brings me back.
“I'm glad you chose us. Your interests will be properly protected,” he says calmly.
I nod.
Quinn asks a few sharp questions. Tyrone answers them easily.
“You’re doing fine,” he tells me near the end, meeting my eyes. “There’s no emergency here.”
No emergency.
The words settle over me like permission to breathe.
We wrap up quickly. No pressure. No urgency. Just a clear sense of order.
As we stand to leave, Quinn gathers her tablet. Tyrone hands me a card.
“If you need anything,” he says, “you call. Otherwise, we’ll check in next quarter.”
Outside the building, the city feels louder than it did before. More immediate.
Quinn glances at me as we walk. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I just… needed to know things weren’t falling apart without me noticing.”
“They’re not,” she says. “You’re doing exceptionally well.”
I smile faintly at that.
On the drive back, I stare out the window, watching familiar streets slide past.
If things feel distant between Arthur and me, maybe it’s because they are.
But maybe there is something I can do.
