Marcus West's office had not changed in the five years Nia had worked at this firm.
Same desk, the heavy oak one he had brought from his original Wicker Park office when the firm outgrew it. Same photograph of his wife and daughters on the credenza behind him. Same view of the West Loop that every office on this floor shared but that somehow looked different from his more settled, more earned, view of someone who had been looking at it long enough to have stopped seeing it as impressive and started seeing it as simply his.
He stood when she came in which he did not always do and gestured to the chair across from his desk.
She sat.
He sat.
"You know why you are here," he said.
"I have a reasonable idea," she said.
He almost smiled. "The senior partner restructuring. Three positions b
