We take the service elevator to the fourteenth floor, where the administrative offices are housed. Frank unlocks a door at the end of the hall and ushers us into a corner office with huge windows overlooking the city.
“This’ll be your office,” Frank tells Bastian. “When you’re on-site, I mean.”
Like everything else here, it’s beautiful. Bastian does a slow circuit of the room and finishes at the window. He gazes at Chicago laid out below.
“Perfect,” he says under his breath. Then he turns back to face us. “Frank, I know I’ve been hard on you. Probably harder than I should’ve been. But you delivered. You really f*****g delivered.”
Frank’s face does a complicated spasm. For a second, I think he might cry. But then he just nods again and says, “Thanks, Mr. Hale. That means a lot.”
But so
