“Jess?” Lena had been nose deep in her tablet. She’d been walking - walking out of her office - walking to get another mug of tea before settling into her next four-hour marathon of work. She’d not bothered looking up when the small rustle of paper came from her secretary’s desk. “I thought you left-”
Until she did.
“Hi.”
Lena blinked and felt the tablet slip from her grip. Her fingers fumbled to keep it from crashing to the floor, and in that distraction she was able to keep her mouth from plummeting open in shock.
“You didn’t have a terrace.”
She knew this day might come. Would come. She’d worried through countless hypotheticals and iterations of hypotheticals and versions of those hypothetical iterations. She’d imagined the good, the bad, the painful, and the words she might say to soften the blow. There was only one constant in each and every version: it wouldn’t be easy. It would be hard. It might even be impossible.
The fact that the CEO of OceanGate said âat some point, safety is just pure wasteâ and took some billionaires down to the grave of 1500 people whose deaths were, in large part, due to the hubris and negligence of the ultra wealthy and is stuck there is just shit you canât make up
The fact that this guyâs wifeâs great-great grandparents were Isidor and Ida Straus aka these people:
