TWENTY-THREE
Things were still not back to normal at Christopher Clark & Oliver. After Frank Oliver made his P.R. rounds, he retreated into his office with instructions not to be disturbed. After having satisfied himself – he thought – that his drones would at least not stab him in the back, he sat at his desk, coatless, filling yellow sheets of legal pads with scribbles that he intended to put into a black binder. He determined to compile a comprehensive, blow-by-blow account of the entire relationship. It would be his magnum opus. He needed it for his afternoon meeting with the criminal lawyers that Tad had arranged for him, and he wanted it to be a masterpiece of detailed clarity for them. Unfortunately, the story that made its way to paper had to be filtered through his mind first, an
