Chapter 7: What He Wanted

The fortieth floor at night is all glass and city lights and nobody around. Sebastian Vale had his jacket off, sleeves rolled, a laptop open, and a wall of my own articles projected behind him like an indictment. "Sit," he said. "You keep telling me to sit." "You keep standing against walls like you're furniture." I sat. He turned the laptop toward me. The DA's witness list. Trial calendar. Twelve days. "Boston can't be ready," he said. "Six firms say plead. Whitlock says accident and...