Across the Street

And that was the day I crossed the street with my lawyer and a notary.

Chapter 12 — The Red Folder

Dashiell opened the door with sunken eyes, and for one second I watched hope cross his face — he thought we’d come with food, or with mercy, or with a check.

Four days of heat and dark had done something to him already.

This was a man who had spent six years being certain — certain of his charm, certain of his standing, certain that whatever went wrong could be smoothed over or paid off or shouted down.

The certainty was gone from his face.