Jessica jumped in quickly, sensing the current beneath the surface. “Michael tells me you worked in finance, Mr. Warren. That must have been interesting.”
“Tom,” I reminded her gently. “And yes, for many years. I’m retired now.”
“Retired at—” Richard let the question dangle in the air, unfinished, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Fifty-nine.”
“Early retirement.” Christopher smirked slightly over the rim of his water glass. “That’s quite a luxury.”
“I saved well,” I said, simple as that.
“And what do you do with your time now?” Patricia asked, the question carrying the faint weight of a woman genuinely unable to imagine a life without a title attached to it.
“Golf sometimes. I travel a bit. I read a great deal. I help Michael when he needs it. Take walks around the neighborhood most evenings.”
The waiter returned for our orders. I watched the Bradfords order without so much as glancing at the prices — the lobster, the Wagyu, the heritage pork belly. When the waiter turned to me, I said, “I’ll have the chicken breast, please. Plain. And water is fine.”
