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“The Trust signed off this afternoon,” she says.

“The remaining transfer documents are being circulated now. The painting will move first, and the brooch will follow separately once the insurance language is finalized.”

I nod. “I saw that part in the confirmation.”

“The last few days were mostly paperwork and verification,” she says.

“Nothing dramatic.”

“I would’ve come over earlier, but the board meeting ran long.”

Blaire lifts her glass.

“You probably shouldn’t have been there anyway.”

I look at her.

“Should I be offended?”

“No,” she says.

“The final part was more sensitive than the earlier meetings. Trust counsel, private ownership, transfer details. You being there would’ve made everyone more aware of who was in the room.”

“I understand.”

She gives me a small nod and takes another sip of wine.

The conversation moves easily enough after that, but there is something different in her tonight. She isn’t distracted exactly. She is composed.

Too composed.

I let it go at first.

Dinner arrives, and for several minutes we talk about the practical aftermath of the assignment. What documents remain. What Blaire needs to hand back to the archive team. What still needs to be boxed, logged, or returned to San Francisco.

That last part catches my attention.

“When are you leaving?” I ask.

Blaire puts her fork down.

“The day after tomorrow.”

I stare at her.

“The day after tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

I sit back slightly.

“I thought you had another week.”

“No,” she says. “The project’s finished.”

“You never said you were leaving that soon.”

“I told you I needed to get back once this was done.”