The rain had finally stopped, leaving the asphalt shiny and black under the orange glow of the streetlights.

We drove downtown in complete silence.

The dashboard clock glowed green, ticking closer to nine o’clock.

I watched the dark shapes of the office buildings slip past my window.

John Henderson’s law office was on the twelfth floor of a brick building near the courthouse.

The lobby was empty, smelling faintly of lemon wax and damp carpets.

When the elevator doors slid open, Henderson was waiting for us in the hallway.

His tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Henderson said, gesturing for us to follow him.

Inside his office, Ethan Brooks sat on a low leather sofa.

He was surrounded by neat stacks of white paper and manila folders.

Ethan stood up when we walked in, extending a hand to my father.

“Daniel,” Ethan said. “I came as soon as John called me.”

“How bad is it?” my father asked.

He sat down in one of the heavy wooden chairs opposite Henderson’s cluttered desk.