“But your stock?”

Harry gave a big laugh. “Oh, yeah. The stock. The way they keep you here, hanging. Well, fuck the stock. I never cared much about money. It’s only this place that made me want money. Fuck it. I have a house, a car, a wife who works, and about a hundred vendor-logo T-shirts. What the fuck do I need money for? The work here’s not interesting anymore. Nobody cares about really interesting stuff, or even about the quality of averagely interesting stuff. But—Fuck. I’m sorry, Ethan. I shouldn’t be saying any of this. I should be telling you this is a great place, but right now I just need new challenges.”

They sat silently. Ethan felt one question after another come up in him, then subside as already answered or unanswerable.