“Okay, Paul, we’ll get started. As we discussed on the phone, we’re just going to have a simple conversation about your life after the death of your father. Is that all right with you?”

Another pause, and then he said, “Sure.”

“Great. So. How long have you been an accountant?”

“Forever.”

“I mean, specifically, in years?”

“Years? Since college. I’m … forty-five now. Twenty-two when I graduated. So forty-five minus twenty-two equals twenty-three years as an accountant.” He closed his eyes.

“Paul?”

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

He opened one eye, then the other. “I agreed to do this, so I’ll do it, but I’d like to get it over with. I’ve been through all this in therapy. I can give you the answers. I just … don’t like listening to the questions.” He sighed. “I read your letter … We talked on the phone … I know what you want. You want before and after, right? Okay. I’ll give you before and after. I’ll give you the gist of the then and the now.” He uttered another small sigh.

Gurney had the momentary impression that they were miners trapped in an underground cave-in, their oxygen supply fading—a scrap of memory from a movie he saw as a child.

Kim frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Mellani repeated, the words heavier the second time around, “I’ve been through all this in therapy.”

“Okay … and … therefore … you …?”

“Therefore I can give you the answers without your having to ask the questions. Better for everyone. Right?”

“Sounds great, Paul. Please, go right ahead.”

He pointed at one of her cameras. “Is that running?”

“Yes.”

Mellani shut his eyes again. By the time he began his narrative, whatever Kim was feeling about the situation was breaking out in tics at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s not like I was a happy person before the … event. I was never a happy person. But there was a time when I had hope. I think I had hope. Something like hope. A sense that the future could be brighter. But after the … event … that feeling was gone forever. The color in the picture got switched off, everything was gray. You understand that? No color. I once had the energy to build a professional practice, to grow something.” He articulated the word as though it were a strange concept. “Clients … partners … momentum. More, better, bigger. Until it happened.” He fell silent.

“It?” prompted Kim.

“The event.” He opened his eyes. “It was like being pushed over the edge of something. Not a cliff, just …” He raised his hand, miming the movement of a car reaching the apex of a hill, then tilting slightly downward. “Things started going south. Falling apart. Bit by bit. The engine wasn’t running anymore.”

“What was your family situation?” asked Kim.

“Situation? Apart from the fact that my father was dead and my mother was in an irreversible coma?”