The invitation said breakfast.
Felix had checked twice.
He arrived at the dining room on the strength of that assurance and found a place marked with his name between an estate secretary and a man wearing enough small badges to suggest several overlapping responsibilities.
A plate of warm bread stood within reach.
Things could still improve.
“Master Vance,” said the secretary. “We’ve been eager to hear your thoughts.”
“I was hoping to try them after eating.”
“Naturally.”
