Monday morning, at 9:30, Megan and I arrived at Hector Bravo’s office downtown. She looked like she had been dressed by justice itself—black suit, hair in a tight bun, briefcase full of fire.
Hector welcomed us with old-fashioned kindness and deep disappointment.
At 9:52, Daniel walked in wearing a gray suit that looked like funeral clothes. Emily followed behind him, and I almost did not recognize her. No red dress. No armor. Navy dress, low heels, pulled-back hair, very little makeup. She looked small.
We sat across from one another.
Hector adjusted his glasses.
“We’re here to resolve ownership and occupancy regarding 847 Jurist Circle.”
“We know,” Emily said quickly.
Megan opened her folder.
“Do you know my client invested $136,800 in that property?”
Emily swallowed.
“Yes.”
“And do you know she can seek immediate possession, rent claims, and other remedies?”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at me and spoke in a voice so hoarse it almost sounded torn.
“I listened to the recordings. All seventeen. It took me four hours. Every one of them destroyed me.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“Daniel—”
“No,” he said, sharper than I had ever heard him. “Not this time.”
Then he looked at me again.