Robert looks like he’s about to go to his own funeral. Poor thing. She squeezes his arm as they walk in. It’s a typical black tie affair with people dressed to the nines and waiters walking around with glasses of champagne and hors d’ouvres.

The man who approaches them seems gregarious and is not, she presumes, one of the asshole businessmen that Robert’s company is trying to get money out of tonight. He confirms her assumption and she shakes Hammond’s hand. “Midge, please,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

It occurs to her that she doesn’t know exactly what this company does. Robert is a game warden. Perhaps it’s some kind of large animal breeding scheme for hunters?