“Cassandra’s father—” He stopped himself.
“Cassandra’s father what?”
He shook his head slowly.
“He’s not someone you want to make an enemy of.”
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s a fact.”
“So is this.” I placed my hand flat on the envelope.
“I have documentation, a recording, and a witness who is willing to speak on my behalf.
What do you have?”
The room was quiet.
Outside, a car passed on the street below.
The small plant on the windowsill caught the last of the evening light.
Nathan reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.
It was a gesture I had seen a thousand times.
He did it when he was tired, when he was studying, when he was trying to think through a problem.
“I’ll call my lawyer tonight,” he said finally.
“Good.
Mine will be ready tomorrow morning.”
He stood.
He picked up the prepaid phone from the desk and put it in his jacket pocket.
I let him take it.
I had already photographed the screen.
