Joey smiles, cat eyes sparkling, and leans forward in his own chair. “How would you feel about getting a promotion?”

Saul is silent. He wonders wryly how many people are offered as many jobs as he has been offered in his lifetime; how many of those offers, like these, weren’t really offers, but incomprehensible moves in a life-size game of chess. “A promotion,” he says, tasting it, buying himself some time.

“We need a change,” says Joey. “I’m not stepping down, but I am looking for someone to take on some of my responsibilities. To share in the work, but also to shake up some of the old ways. If Sofia was my son, well. It might be different.”

“And you want me to help?” asks Saul.

“I want you to be my number two,” says Joey. “Officially. I want you to take some of my meetings, handle some of my conflicts, come up with some ideas for me. The monthly Fianzo meeting, to start—you’ve been coming along with me, you can do that yourself. I’ll manage some of the big-scale things—and Sofia’s work, I imagine it would be uncomfortable for you to do that, so I’ll do it.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed we’ve spent a lot of time together lately. In some ways, you’re already doing the job. But appearances mean a lot in this business.” Joey is silent. He drains the espresso and puts the cup and saucer back on the table next to him. Then he interlaces his fingers and sighs, and Saul realizes that Joey looks tired, that in the curve of his spine and the heaviness of his facial features there is a profound exhaustion. “You’re a more powerful tool than you realize, Saul. You disturb what people consider to be the natural order of things. I didn’t always think that was the right strategy, but a lot has changed.”

It would feel strange to say thank you, so Saul says nothing.

There is a thick silence between them. Saul doesn’t know how to react.

“What do you think?” Joey asks.