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walked into the kitchen and recognized their car on the news. A somber mood settled through the room. It remained after the deposition ended.
    Taylor spoke first. “The deposition in Provence is canceled. Sorry.”
    “Sorry? You can’t cancel!” Harlan glared.
    Taylor spread his arms out at his sides. “Go figure. I just found out. Safety Tire won’t produce Adam Banks. He doesn’t work for Safety Tire anymore. There’s nothing I can do.” He looked apologetically at Stephanie.
    “I know he doesn’t work for Safety Tire anymore, counsel. I have the investigation bills to prove it! After I spent a fortune finding him, you volunteered to produce him.”
    “I feel that—”
    “—This isn’t about what you feel! It’s about what you’re going to do. Produce him!” His stomach churned. He’d spent a fortune nailing down Banks’ deposition while the impending trial date loomed and his bank account emptied.
    “Safety Tire’s been having some problems. We may be filing for Bankruptcy.” He shrugged. When bad things happen to rich corporations, there’s no easy explanation.
    Harlan watched Taylor pack up his cell phone, Mont Blanc pens and monogrammed legal pads. “What a financially dynamic company,” he said drily. “Just last week, my broker sent me a prospectus that claimed you could stretch Safety Tire’s dollars all around the globe and wonder what to do with the millions left over.”
    Taylor’s adams apple, always highly responsive to Harlan, now bobbed wildly. Stephanie tried not to stare.
    “I can’t control brokers!” He banged his knee against one hardwood chair, averting his eyes form Harlan’s fierce stare and hobbling out as quickly as his Ferragamo loafers could carry him.
    “They won’t get away with Bankruptcy,” Stephanie said hopefully.
    “I know they won’t get away with it! But they’ll delay the trial. And I’ve put a lot of money into this case.” He looked away. Why was he telling this girl?
    She couldn’t speak.
    “I need Banks’ deposition. I have to go to Provence. What’s the fastest way out of here?” His thumb slipped under one red suspender. He had too much money in this case to quit.
    “I’ll show you a shortcut.” She pulled back the ancient lace curtains and opened French doors to a clangy metal balcony. A few feet away, a fire escape lay affixed to the wall, leading to a parking lot.
    “Are you psychic?”
    “Just a little psycho. I used to be a student here.”
    “That’s cool.”
    They raced down the creaky old fire escape, Stephanie felt a familiar glee at escaping the school’s clutches.
    “Do you still have your uniform? I’d love to see you in it.” Mischief danced in his eyes.
    Unbelievable. All the time she spent trying to look sophisticated, and this guy wanted to see her in a schoolgirl uniform.
    “Harlan, the one vow I took was to never wear a schoolgirl uniform again.”
    “Oh. Where were your parents?”
    “All over. They have a business. Educational toys. Boarding school made sense.”
    “That must have been hard.”
    She winced. “For years, I wondered what I had done wrong. My Dad used to ask why I was so quiet when he came to visit. I couldn’t talk. I always thought I must have said something that offended him.”
    “There are worse places.” Harlan made a sweeping hand gesture at the mission style buildings, nestled on a hilltop sanctuary, above the world’s problems.
    “I’m grateful for it now. Boarding school fosters independence. And that’s a good thing.” She tried to sound glib but her voice revealed a child’s hidden bewilderment.
    “Did you ever try counseling?” His hand slipped beneath the heavy briefcase strap and lightly massaged her shoulder.
    “Of course. But at some point, analysis becomes useless.”
    She stood, surrendering to the massage’s power.
    “I’d like counseling if I could go just once a week and say, here are all my problems. You work on them. And I’ll be back next week to