Chapter 8: The Offer

Brantley got to the podium before anyone else could move.

He put a hand on Kerri's shoulder and leaned into the microphone.

"My associate has read every page of the file," he said smoothly. "As have I. I think we can let these good people finish their breakfast."

"There's no color in the file," I said.

I didn't need the microphone. The room was that quiet.

"You know there isn't. You wrote ninety-six pages and you never once wrote gray."

Kerri looked up at him.

Just for a second.

He didn't look back at her.

Darla stood up, gathered her purse, and took one more bite of her doughnut.

"Lovely breakfast," she announced to the table. "Very moving. Give generously to the shelter."

We walked out through the gold doors, and nobody stopped us.

In the lobby, a woman I'd never met touched my arm as I went by.

She didn't say anything. She just touched it.

On Monday the firm asked for a meeting.

Darla read the email out loud in a game show voice.

"In the interest of resolving this painful matter with dignity for all parties."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they've got a number and a gag."

The conference room on the twenty-first floor had a glass wall facing the river and a table you could land a plane on.

Six partners sat along one side of it.

The managing partner sat at the head. Seventy, silver, a handshake.

Brantley wasn't there.

I could see his office from my chair. The door was shut and the blinds were down.

"Ms. Shore," the managing partner said warmly. "Thank you for coming. Let me first say how sorry we all are."

"For what?" I asked.

He paused.

"For what you've been through."

"You're sorry it happened. Or sorry one of your lawyers paid for it?"

One of the partners looked down at her notepad.

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