“You’re going to be a happy man,” I announced. “I have some interesting news.” I began telling him about my “almost unbelievable chance meeting” with a “rising star” at The Wall Street Journal whom “I was just talking with on the phone” when Bruno extended a section of The New York Times and let it drop on my desk. The paper flopped open. The headline of an article in the top right-hand corner read: CORTEZ STOCK PLUMMETS, UNDERFER OUSTED.

I began to read the article but didn’t get far. I knew it wasn’t good for us.

“I’m sorry, Kate.”

“Did you know about this?”

“Louis gave me a heads-up last Friday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your weekend.”

“Bruno, what does it mean—”

“The foundation was endowed with Cortez stock. Which is now worthless. So, basically, we have nothing to give away. It’s over, Kate. Louis is sorry about it. We’ll be paid what we’re owed, but he needs us to go away quietly.”

I stared out my office window, noticing the dirt on the glass. “Is that all he said?”

“No, he said he hoped I was feeling better.”

I was too stunned to cry.

“I feel especially bad for you, Kate. You’ve done so much work.”

I put on my best face. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I do.”

“I wouldn’t trade away all that I’ve learned.”

“That’s my girl.” Bruno pushed himself up to a standing position and gingerly crossed toward my office door. “Thanks, Kate. You could’ve taken this hard.”

I took it harder than he will ever know. I took it hard at first, snapping at our intern, Jessica, while we made the long list of people to call. Around noon, I took it hard when I headed out for lunch and couldn’t decide on what and where to eat. Around three o’clock, I took it especially hard when I realized Bruno Schwine & Associates was finished and the Lucy Foundation was no more.

Funny thing was that Bruno seemed relieved.

I went home early that day, so I wasn’t there when Bruno collapsed headfirst and tumbled down the stairs. Jessica called 911. She rode in the ambulance with Bruno, who was unconscious. I got to St. Vincent’s as quickly as I could, and it was during those three continuous days when I stayed at the hospital that it occurred to me I’d been wrong. Maybe I hadn’t been hired to try to save the world. Maybe I’d been hired to help my old friend die.

ABIGAIL HOSFORD

ABIGAIL HOSFORD

KATHERINE . . . YES . . . IT’S ABBY HOSFORD, WITH THE HEIGHTS ASSOCIATION . . . calling again. I left a message earlier with your sweet, sweet son . . . such good manners, too . . . I worried you might not have gotten my messa—

KATE

KATE

“I GOT YOUR MESSAGE.”

“Hello? Katherine?”