Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
I stood there with my hand still open where the purse had been.
That folder was the same weight and finish as the due diligence folders we kept in the twelfth-floor vault.
I had carried boxes of them to the copier for Gavin at eleven at night.
The nurse asked for the woman’s name.
I didn’t have it.
By nine-fifteen, I was back in the Buick with the heater running and my phone face up on the passenger seat.
Gavin’s messages had piled up like weather.
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