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left her bastard of a cheating husband. I've got a lot of mouths to feed."
    Way to add another brick to the guilt load I'm already carrying on my shoulders, Mr. Wilkinson. "I'm doing my best." I am. I spend almost all my time awake thinking about this case.
    "Do you have kids, Mr. Moore?"
    I look up from my desk at his face. "I don't." I already know where this conversation is headed, and I'm considering diving under my desk to avoid the head on collision that is coming my way.
    "My wife and I worked our entire lives to save money," he begins. "When she died, God rest her soul, I wanted to give more to my granddaughters."
    I nod. He's told me this story several times since I took on his case, three weeks ago. Each time, since the first, I'm tempted to tell him that I've heard it. I suspect he knows he's repeating but he wants to share. It helps him. I can see it and hear it.
    "I gave Anthony that money so he could make more money for me." He shakes his head as if he's warding off all thoughts of Anthony Mercado, the man he trusted his financial empire with. "He was kind, he was nice to me, he said he understood what I was feeling after Nancy died." His bottom lip trembles at the mention of his late wife's name.
    I've heard enough stories about her to understand that she was a sweet loving and very devoted wife. The first time he spoke about her I thought about Jessica and what it would feel like if I lost her. I doubt like fucking hell that I would be able to make any rational decisions either. Anthony Mercado set his sights on Phil Wilkinson the month after his wife died. This guy wasn't an ambulance chaser. He was a fucking hearse chaser.
    I take in a deep breath. "I can't imagine how hard it was to lose her." I must have said that same phrase to him a dozen or more times since I met him. Each time I say it holds more and more meaning.
    "I feel like an idiot. I wanted to give my granddaughters a chance in life. They're both in broken marriages, they have children, and they need my help." He wrings his hands together. "Nancy and I were going to build a big house with the money from the investments. The girls and their kids were going to live with us. You have to get that back for me."
    I push my hands against my desk, slowly pulling myself up. He's right. I have to do something. I can't let that asshole get away with this. "Leave it to me, Mr. Wilkinson. You picked the right man for the job." The words sound believable, now I just have to make them come true.
     

Chapter 7
     
    "Did it go okay at the office today?" Jessica asks, as she picks at the vegetable ragout she made for the two of us for dinner.
    I take a heavy mouthful of food and chew it slowly. I feel spent. After my meeting with Mr. Wilkinson, I had gone down to the bar down the street from my office. Two glasses of bourbon later and I still feel like shit. I know she's waiting to talk about what's bothering me." It was fine," I say before shoveling another forkful of food into my mouth.
    She moves the food around on her plate. I've only seen her take a small bite. "I know you're under a lot of stress. I know your job isn't easy."
    The words are meant to pacify me. She's not that interested in my job. It's not her fault. When we first got together she asked me a lot of questions about what I do for a living. Back then, I only was interested in one thing. I wanted to fuck and that was it. I hate that I didn't give her more of myself in the beginning. "It's just a tough case. There's a lot of pressure."
    She picks up her glass of red wine and only takes a very small sip before she places it back down. "I know you can't talk about it. There's that whole lawyer and client confidentiality thing."
    I nod. She's right. I can't give her the specifics. I can talk in generalities though. "My client lost everything. He lost his wife and his life savings almost at the same time."
    She pulls her hand up to her chest as if she's warding off something that might touch her