Chapter 22: The Table at Tillman Marine

The Seattle group asked for a meeting on Monday, and I gave them my grandfather's conference room.

It had a long oak table, a brass lamp and a window onto the slough.

I sat at the head of it.

Russ sat against the wall behind me with his arms folded.

The buyer's representative sat at my right with an assistant and a tablet.

My lawyer sat on my left.

At five past ten the door opened and Nolan walked in.

He had a new suit, and he had shaved, and he carried a leather folder.

His attorney came in behind him.

"I wasn't told you were coming," I said.

"I'm still the finder on this deal. I have a contract."

"You have a contract with a company I own."

"Signed in March, by your agent."

"Who was you."

"Who was your agent," he said pleasantly, and sat.

The buyer's representative cleared his throat.

"Ms. Tillman, our group has no interest in a dispute."

"Good."

"If the sale cannot proceed, we need to understand why."

"It can't proceed because I never agreed to it."

"The paper says otherwise."

"The paper is void."

"That is for a court to say," Nolan's attorney began.

The door opened again.

Kristen came in with her lawyer, in the plain black dress.

She sat at the far end of the table, three seats from Nolan.

He did not look at her.

I watched his hand tighten on the folder.

"This is irregular," his attorney said.

"She's a witness," my lawyer said. "And she's here at my client's invitation."

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