My Cousin Read the Headline Out Loud at Thanksgiving

in a hotel robe in midtown, staring at a burnt Nespresso and a rain-streaked window.

It was Frank Doyle, Blackridge’s outgoing chief executive. Sixty-eight. Chain smoker’s voice. Pretended to hate everyone, which covered the fact that he was usually right.

“Board voted at six,” he said. “You’re in.”

I sat on the edge of the bed.

For a second I thought continue reading …