There it was.
The absurdity returned.
I explained.
Not every detail.
Enough.
My diagnosis.
No children.
No heir.
The desire to understand how my company treated vulnerable people.
Maeve stared at me.
“You came here pretending to be homeless to pick someone to inherit your company?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds unwell.”
“It is unwell.”
Ellie laughed.
Maeve did not.
“You were going to choose a stranger?”
“Possibly.”
“Because they bought you food?”
“No.”
I explained the process.
Observation first.
Investigation after.
Character over performance.
Maeve shook her head.
“This is the kind of thing rich people do because nobody tells them when they’ve become ridiculous.”
Nessa would have loved her.
I smiled.
“My assistant told me.”
“You did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
Then Ellie pushed the soup toward me.
“Are you still hungry?”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Then eat.”
I did.
The soup was too salty.
It was also the best thing I had tasted in months.
The experiment ended that afternoon.
Not because I had found my heir.
Because I had found something more complicated.
