Dennis Larson rinsed the rest of the shaving lather away and really looked at himself for the first time in a long time. Deep lines creased across his face, like furrows in the farmland of his youth. Another time, another place. His wife said that it distinguished him from the young, upstart lawyers the firm had gotten into the habit of hiring. Dark hair, liberally splashed with gray topped his head. Thankfully he’d not inherited the tendency for baldness from his Dad’s side. He’d look terrible as a bald man.

At forty-nine he looked more or less like he should- a moderately successful junior partner at a law firm.

His Blackberry rattled and hummed as it shook against the marble sink. Only the office would text him this early. Sliding it open, he read the message and got dressed. Michelle was already at the hospital, he vaguely remembered her getting called in, in the middle of the night.

The entire drive to work was spent thinking about the message.

COME UPSTAIRS AS SOON AS YOU GET IN, WE NEED TO TALK -RS