The weeks after the verdict were the quietest Adam had known in years.
No trials. No threats. No midnight calls from Miller. The garage hummed along. The foundation ran itself. Marcus was in Chicago, thriving at his internship. Jenna was in D.C., building her advocacy network. Nina had finally retired, spending her days reading books and taking long walks.
Adam found himself restless.
“You're pacing,” Sandra said from the office couch.
“I'm thinking.”
“About what?”
“About what comes next.”
“You've been asking that question for years.”
“I've never had an answer.”
She set down her book. “Maybe that's the answer. Maybe there is no 'next.' Maybe this is it.”
“This is what? Fixing cars? Waiting for the phone to ring?”
“This is living. Without a war. Without a vendetta. Without someon
