Chapter 21
They had breakfast together most mornings.
Not every morning — Derrick worked long hours, and Celestine had found a church nearby where she volunteered twice a week in the community kitchen, same as she always had, because that was who she was and a change of city didn't change who she was.
But most mornings, they sat together.
On a Tuesday in October, Raymond came for breakfast too.
He brought biscuits from the bakery two blocks over and set them on the table without announcing them, and Celestine looked at the biscuits and then at Raymond and said, "You remembered."
"You mentioned it once," Raymond said.
"Eight years ago," she said.
"I have a good memory," he said.
Derrick watched the two of them and drank his coffee and said nothing.
Sonya Caldwell had called the week before.
The Hartwell trust had been formally returned.
Gerald Whitmore's counsel had accepted the settlement terms rather than face the bar review's full findings.
Gerald himself had stepped back from Whitmore Capital's day-to-day operations — the official statement cited health reasons; his investors cited other things privately.
Derrick's firm had called too.
His senior partners had been uncomfortable, then apologetic, then — once the full picture became clear — quietly grateful that Derrick had caught it and handled it without making them a target.
He had been offered a partnership track conversation.
He had said he'd think about it.
He was still thinking about it.
Vanessa had not called.
He had not expected her to.
He had heard, through Raymond, that she had taken a position at a nonprofit in another city.
Something to do with housing access.
Raymond had said it with a small, neutral expression that meant he didn't know what to make of it and neither did Derrick.
He had wished her well in his mind.
May you like
He meant it.
It was one of the simpler feelings from the whole complicated year.
