Tony Tolomei looked at the painting behind the table, the one his father had chosen for this room, though he had never lived to see it hanging there. It was a large work by the Nordic artist Claude Harvat, *Kai sy, teknon*. It made Tony Tolomei think about how little he really knew about his father. His father had been neither religious nor a learned man, yet he had chosen for the board dining room a depiction of the Last Supper whose title alluded to Julius Caesar. Tony Tolomei liked to sit where he could see the painting.

Over the meal, they talked about property deals, shopping centres, office buildings and holiday resorts. Nick Key wanted to invest more heavily in real estate. Tony Tolomei had nothing to say; it had nothing to do with him.

Prevon talked about automation and the planning that should be built around it. Tony Tolomei did not understand technology, but he had been reading about it, and interjected with a question about his own sector: the online sale of luxury goods. Prevon looked at him for a moment as though Tony had landed on the rim of his glass.

“E-commerce won’t be a significant sector for years yet, particularly when it comes to luxury goods.”

From farther down the table came a small cough. Tony Tolomei saw that the newest member of the board, Henry Lund, Director of European Sales—the only one, apart from Tony himself, who had voted against forcing him out—had wanted to say something, but then looked down at his plate instead. Lund was a strange man: quiet, efficient, and somehow charged with energy. Tony Tolomei had spoken about him with Mrs Weiss, and although she kept her opinions to herself, it was clear that Lund was one of her favourites too.

The latter part of the meal was awkward. People began telling stories about Tony Tolomei as though they were at his funeral. It made him uncomfortable, but he could not bring himself to say so. Only Lund kept his mouth shut, and Tony Tolomei’s respect for him grew.

Tony Tolomei was afraid someone would still produce a gold watch. When Nick Key stood up with a grin, Tony feared that this was it.

“Tony, my dear fellow, you have been the longest-serving member of our board in its entire history, and now that you are retiring…” At this point, Tony Tolomei’s face twitched. “At first, I thought we should give you a very special gold watch.”

Both Tony Tolomei and Nick Key took a sip from their glasses.

“However, at Henry Lund’s suggestion, we decided on a different sort of gift. We understand that the street where you grew up, and your old neighbourhood, still mean a great deal to you. There is a vacant plot near your childhood home, and the Company has decided to fund the creation of the Tony Tolomei Italian Garden there.”

Tony Tolomei was taken aback. This was something he had not expected, and before he could answer, he had to take a long sip of his spritzer.

“Well…” Tony Tolomei stood up, searching for words. “This certainly was… a surprise. I assumed you were about to produce a watch like the one I inherited from my father—but instead you came up with a gift that enriches us all.”

Another ripple of laughter.

“I do have one request, though. Perhaps you could name the garden after my mother? Laura Long Tolomei gave the Company her family—both me and her husband.”

For a moment, the board looked puzzled. Nick Key turned to Bennett.

“Can you arrange that with the city?”

“I can arrange absolutely anything with them!”

Tony Tolomei did not like Bennett.