I didn't look at him. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked. I didn't. But I didn't see why it mattered anymore. "I got angry." "We all get angry, Michael." "I got really angry. Really, really angry." He didn't say anything for a moment, but I knew what he was going to say next. "Tell me about it." So I did. I woke up late that morning, slept through my alarm. I'd stayed up too late reading the night before, but I couldn't bring myself to put the book down and go to sleep. It was like I didn't want the next day to come. I must have known somehow. I pushed myself out of bed and went straight for the shower. When I got out I was a bit more awake, and I figured, if I hurried, I'd only be about fifteen minutes late. I'd been with the firm long enough that Old Man Johnson wouldn't have cared. The problem was, Old Man Johnson was dead and New Man Johnson was running things. I pulled on my clothes, brushed my hair and went to grab my wallet, keys, and phone. There was a new message on my phone.
