that the disease has returned—”
The collective intake of breath seemed to pull the air from the room.
“It has returned,” Chris went on, “and spread.” He paused and took Joanna’s hand on top of the table. At least this was a somber announcement. Then her blank face and downturned eyes could believably be explained away as shock and grief.
Chris cleared his throat. “It’s advanced to a stage where I only have a few months remaining.”
The reporters shifted and murmured, probably struggling not to shout out questions—it was well known that Chris would have any reporter removed from the room if they interrupted a statement before he was willing to take questions.
“Over the next few weeks,” he continued, speaking slowly, “I’ll be transferring my responsibilities within Berserker Tech. Most will be going to my trusted business partner, David Lamont.” He gestured at David, and David nodded somberly, pretending his gut wasn’t twisted into knots.
“I will, of course, fight this as long as I can.” Chris smiled, lifting his and Joanna’s joined hands slightly. “I have a great deal of love and support, and I’m not giving up yet.”
Joanna lifted her head and looked past Chris to meet David’s eyes.
If looks could kill…
He gritted his teeth and faced the audience again. Fine. Let her be bitter about upholding her vows. She was the one who’d have to live with regrets after her husband was gone.
Which would probably be, he recalled as a lump rose in his throat, a lot sooner than later.
Oblivious to the silent exchange between his wife and business partner, Chris sat up a bit. “With all of that said, are there any questions?”
Of course, every hand in the room shot up.
David didn’t really hear what any of them asked, or how Chris answered. There was only one question in his mind.
God, why?
Chapter Six
As soon as the press conference was over, the news started spreading. It would have started even earlier—probably the instant Chris had uttered the word “cancer”—but he and David had designed the auditorium to be a phone and Internet dead zone. Some people had screamed that it interfered with the freedom of the press, but Chris reminded them he wasn’t preventing anyone from reporting on what happened in the auditorium, only making sure they didn’t report prematurely, before a presentation had been completed. After one reporter had announced that Berserker Tech was releasing a particular game nearly a year before its actual release, thanks to misunderstanding a comment about the game’s projected completion date, they’d taken measures to make sure nothing went fully public until the entire statement was completed.
Joanna had never had a strong opinion about that one way or the other, but today, she was grateful for it. The delay bought her some time to catch her breath in private and shake some tension out of her shoulders before her phone started blowing up.
And start blowing up, it did.
Her social circle as Joanna was tiny—just her parents and sister, and one or two friends she’d kept in touch with since high school.
Her social circle as Mrs. Christopher McQuaid, however, was massive. Within minutes of the announcement, half a dozen texts had trickled in. By the thirty-minute mark, she’d heard from nearly a hundred people. The phone rang. Voice mails stacked up. Texts came in faster than she could answer them.
Finally, she shut off her phone. She needed to decompress first. The past six months had been the longest period of just being Joanna she’d had in years, and stepping back into Mrs. McQuaid’s shoes was harder than she’d expected.
As was slipping into one of Mrs. McQuaid’s dresses. Chris had noticed too, but wisely hadn’t said anything. His face had said enough, giving her that disapproving down-up before he shook his head and walked away.
I’ve only been back for a day. Back off.
As if it would make a difference if she’d been back
The collective intake of breath seemed to pull the air from the room.
“It has returned,” Chris went on, “and spread.” He paused and took Joanna’s hand on top of the table. At least this was a somber announcement. Then her blank face and downturned eyes could believably be explained away as shock and grief.
Chris cleared his throat. “It’s advanced to a stage where I only have a few months remaining.”
The reporters shifted and murmured, probably struggling not to shout out questions—it was well known that Chris would have any reporter removed from the room if they interrupted a statement before he was willing to take questions.
“Over the next few weeks,” he continued, speaking slowly, “I’ll be transferring my responsibilities within Berserker Tech. Most will be going to my trusted business partner, David Lamont.” He gestured at David, and David nodded somberly, pretending his gut wasn’t twisted into knots.
“I will, of course, fight this as long as I can.” Chris smiled, lifting his and Joanna’s joined hands slightly. “I have a great deal of love and support, and I’m not giving up yet.”
Joanna lifted her head and looked past Chris to meet David’s eyes.
If looks could kill…
He gritted his teeth and faced the audience again. Fine. Let her be bitter about upholding her vows. She was the one who’d have to live with regrets after her husband was gone.
Which would probably be, he recalled as a lump rose in his throat, a lot sooner than later.
Oblivious to the silent exchange between his wife and business partner, Chris sat up a bit. “With all of that said, are there any questions?”
Of course, every hand in the room shot up.
David didn’t really hear what any of them asked, or how Chris answered. There was only one question in his mind.
God, why?
Chapter Six
As soon as the press conference was over, the news started spreading. It would have started even earlier—probably the instant Chris had uttered the word “cancer”—but he and David had designed the auditorium to be a phone and Internet dead zone. Some people had screamed that it interfered with the freedom of the press, but Chris reminded them he wasn’t preventing anyone from reporting on what happened in the auditorium, only making sure they didn’t report prematurely, before a presentation had been completed. After one reporter had announced that Berserker Tech was releasing a particular game nearly a year before its actual release, thanks to misunderstanding a comment about the game’s projected completion date, they’d taken measures to make sure nothing went fully public until the entire statement was completed.
Joanna had never had a strong opinion about that one way or the other, but today, she was grateful for it. The delay bought her some time to catch her breath in private and shake some tension out of her shoulders before her phone started blowing up.
And start blowing up, it did.
Her social circle as Joanna was tiny—just her parents and sister, and one or two friends she’d kept in touch with since high school.
Her social circle as Mrs. Christopher McQuaid, however, was massive. Within minutes of the announcement, half a dozen texts had trickled in. By the thirty-minute mark, she’d heard from nearly a hundred people. The phone rang. Voice mails stacked up. Texts came in faster than she could answer them.
Finally, she shut off her phone. She needed to decompress first. The past six months had been the longest period of just being Joanna she’d had in years, and stepping back into Mrs. McQuaid’s shoes was harder than she’d expected.
As was slipping into one of Mrs. McQuaid’s dresses. Chris had noticed too, but wisely hadn’t said anything. His face had said enough, giving her that disapproving down-up before he shook his head and walked away.
I’ve only been back for a day. Back off.
As if it would make a difference if she’d been back
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