That stayed with me. Quiet. It sounded exactly like Brian.
Ezoic
On Wednesday afternoon, Claire called me into her office.
Claire Delgado was forty-five, with short dark hair and a habit of tapping her pen against her teeth when she was thinking. Her office was on the third floor of an old brick building downtown, and it always smelled like burnt coffee and the lemon hand lotion she kept on her desk.
“Brian’s lawyer responded,” she said.
“And?”
She slid a printed email across the desk.
Brian denied intentionally causing any damage.
The email said the damage was “the result of normal wear and tear during the moving process,” that the faucets were “inadvertently left on” by “persons unknown,” and that Brian “had no knowledge” of the condition of the mirror.
I read it twice.
“Seriously?” I said.
Claire gave me a tired look.
“Don’t react to it.”
