He’s been staring at the memo for three minutes. The yacht has not stopped.
The document says Difficult Decisions in a font that costs more than your rent. He’s reading it the way a man reads a menu he already knows, on a boat he already owns, next to a drink he already poured. Somewhere onshore a building full of people are checking their emails every four minutes wondering if today is the day. The difficult decision is probably which floor to cut first, and he’ll make it between lunch and the second yacht in the background. The hard part for everyone else has already started. His hard part is getting the crease out of the memo.