in his face.
But Adrian was not me.
This was his life too.
So I answered, “I would get the truth first.”
The law office occupied the second floor of an old brick building downtown.
The receptionist had one of those calm voices that could make any terrible situation sound like a dental appointment.
“Name?” she asked.
“Adrian.”
She typed something, looked at him, then stood.
“One moment.”
When she returned, she carried a large sealed envelope with his name written across the front.
My heart started pounding.
Adrian accepted
