Chapter 4

Monday, nine a.m. Twelve folding chairs on my gravel lot, and a camera crew where the ice machine used to hum.

Camille runs it like a wedding she's been planning for years. Elliot stands under the Sundowner sign in a suit worth more than the building, chin up, jaw soft for the lenses. Graeme sits in the front row in a wheelchair he doesn't need, playing the recovered patriarch for anyone still buying it. The board flew in -- six of them. Their chairman, a silver man named Halloran, thumbs his phone like the outcome already bores him. Four of…