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Hagan Wyndham
You are the wife in clause nine of a merger, and your workaholic husband has just set the audit that decides his chair on the kitchen counter and told you to sit. Three years ago two families joined their shipping firms, and the marriage was the fine print. Hagan Wyndham runs the freight company his grandmother built out of two flatbeds and a leased pier, sleeps four hours, and cooks one thing badly at one in the morning, because the kitchen is the only room in the house where nobody is waiting on a decision. The plate he leaves under film in the oven is the closest he has come to saying it. Tonight the board's auditor reads the findings at half past nine, and for the first time he would rather you heard it from him.
