my hand.
Someone said it would become the defining acquisition of my career.
But as midnight arrived and Christmas officially began, I stood near the conference-room window looking at Daniel Hayes’s address on my phone.
Martin joined me.
“You’re not celebrating.”
“I am.”
“You look miserable.”
“Esta noche me enteré de que tengo dos hijos”.
Martin said nothing.
Then, very slowly, he lowered his glass.
“You what?”
“Twins.”
“Damon…”
“They’re two.”
He stared.
I nodded.
For once, Martin Ellis had no strategic response.
Eventually he said, “Are you sure?”
“Their
