She drove along a busy, downtown Houston street in the hot afternoon sun. She parallel parked the car and leaned toward the steering wheel as she glared up at the building. She grabbed her purse and walked toward the entrance.
A statuesque black woman sat behind a large, glossy front desk. She wore a black blazer highlighted by a fuchsia, silk tank. Her hair was slicked back into a neat bun. She pulled her mouthpiece down and smiled. “Welcome to A.B. Lancaster and J. Steiner’s office. How may I help you?”
“Here to see John, please.”
“John Steiner?”
No. Johnny Depp. “Yes. John Steiner.”
“One moment.” She rang the lawyer’s office. Moments later he appeared in the lobby.
“Nice to meet you, Nia,” he said, stretching out his hand to her. He was a short, heavy-set man, with a gray comb-ove
