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Brandon is at the veranda in front of his laptop, looking exasperated by how he presses his temples many times. He has been in the meeting for an hour. I’m already tempted to go there and give him a massage, but that would be inappropriate in front of the camera, so I just made him lemonade to ease his frustration.

Quietly, I appear to his side, place the pitcher on the table, and pour him a glass. He glances at me, then shifts his attention back to the screen.

“What do you propose, Mr. Thompson?” Brandon says.

“But Mr. Lucien, what Mr. Katrakis is proposing hasn’t been done before—”

“Did you think Oliver and I started with something that has been done before, Mr. Thompson?” Brandon challenges. “I’m not expecting a revision either.”

There is a long silence in the background, and Brandon speaks again. I glance at the screen, away from the camera, and find about a dozen people sitting on a long table.

I watch Brandon’s beautiful face while assertively giving a speech. I perch silently n