Kiran does the commission call from the stairwell, because the office is one room and Zinoviy is loud. It runs forty minutes and ends with the same sentence every time —
not until the report is in
— and when he comes down he is still holding his phone.
The coffee stand is quieter now, the morning crowd gone, and there are two cups on the counter that he did not order.
“He bought a second one,”
Kiran says, and it is not really a question.
He pulls the stool out with his foot, sits down, and folds his hands on the counter like a man about to do paperwork.
“I'll be honest with you. Zin and I talked about you before either of us said a word to you. That was my rule.”