(Sebastian)
My grandfather called me up to the house two days before Boston, and he had papers on the table when I arrived.
That wasn't a surprise in itself. He always had papers. Fifty years of running a company leaves a man unable to sit in a room without something to sign, and since the scare he'd been putting his affairs in order with the grim cheer of a man who'd decided to beat the clock to the paperwork. I'd found him like this twice already, a folder open, his lawyer's card on the table, the business of dying done the way he'd done everything, early and thoroughly.
"Sit," he said. "You're leaving Thursday."
"Wednesday night. We close Friday morning."
"Good. Close it clean. Don't let the Hale people talk you into a second meeting. They'll try. They always try, the ones who've b
