Chapter Eleven
The rays of sun squeezed through the slim gaps between the slats of the wooden blinds. Laura turned away from the window, trying to will herself back to sleep. Six hours wasn’t long enough, not after the night she’d had. Coming home, she’d made the premier mistake of checking her work email before taking a shower, which she desperately craved. In her inbox was an email from her father, demanding—no commanding—she take on the case of the contested will or consider looking for employment at another firm, which, he added without trying to hide the threat, might be hard to find without a good reference from him. Napa was looking better and better with each passing hour. She’d take on pro bono cases if she had to, but she wasn’t about to be bullied into taking a case that was a
