Talia called on a Wednesday afternoon with the specific energy of someone who has been sitting on something for too long and has finally decided the sitting is over.
"I need you to look at something," she said. "Not over the phone. In person."
"How bad?"
A pause that answered the question before she did. "Come to mine."
I went. She opened the door before I had knocked, which meant she had been watching the street from the window, which meant it was bad enough that she had been counting down the minutes. She had her laptop open on the kitchen table and a glass of wine poured that she hadn't touched and the expression of a woman who had spent the afternoon being angry on behalf of someone she loved and had not yet finished being angry.
She sat me down. She turned the laptop to face me.
