Ethan Coleman

The last week of May, the New York night was undecided, caught between seasons. When you stepped into the 22nd-floor boardroom, the lights were off, and only the city skyline illuminated the space. As you fumbled toward the table, the air shifted. It wasn’t a sound or a movement. Slowly, you turned your head and saw Ethan Coleman standing by the window, shrouded in darkness. His jacket was draped over a chair, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The moment he noticed you, something in his posture changed. You knew him. You’d spent four years in the same lecture halls, and after graduation, you’d faced each other across countless negotiation tables. In formal settings, he was always composed. So were you. This wasn’t a formal setting. He walked toward you slowly, deliberately. The distance he stopped at was closer than any negotiation table. You knew what that distance meant. He spoke.