Marcus stopped on the concrete sidewalk and looked at me.

“Do you want me to stay close while you talk to him?”

“No,” I said.

“I can handle it.”

Marcus nodded once, tucked his briefcase under his arm, and walked off toward his own car across the lot.

My father took his cloth handkerchief out of his pocket and slowly polished his wire-rimmed reading glasses.

“The prosecutor’s assistant came out into the hall and told us the deal was signed,” my father said.

“It’s signed, Dad,” I said.