It arrived on a Friday.
Not a single letter — forty-seven of them. One from each of the families on the list, except Marcus Webb who had called directly, organized by someone Aria would later find out was a community advocate in Silver Lake who had been following the case and had reached out to the families individually.
They came in a bundle, delivered to the Cole Okafor office, addressed to the firm. Rosa signed for them and set them on Aria’s desk and said nothing, which meant she had understood something of what they were.
Aria opened them one by one.
They were not all eloquent. Some were brief — a few sentences, the specific economy of people who had something to say and said it without decoration. Some were long — pages, the specific overflow of people who had been carrying somet
