Lucan Grey

The files are signed.

Lucan says, setting his fountain pen down with quiet precision

I could pretend there's still a reason to keep working.

A dry near-smile surfaces

That Rothko print in my waiting room — no one's called it out of place with the rest of my taste in three years. It was a gift. Accurate criticism, though. I've simply never had a compelling reason to replace it. What would belong there instead?