May I offer you a bottle of water?”“Naw, I’m good,” replied the client. “I’ll just wait.”A few minutes later, F. Jamison O’Brien appeared wearing a neat slim-fit J. Farrar black suit, a pastel green Van Heusen sateen-finish button-down shirt, a satin pink paisley tie, and black Stacy Adams loafers. He looked like a million bucks with his closely cropped blond hair and ice blue eyes, but the whole look only cost him a little over a $250 at JC Penney – courtesy of his mom’s department store credit card. He was a solo practice attorney three years out of a law school with a mountain of student loan debt. He took any work he could find and lately he’d made a few connections handling d**g charges and other various cases of a rather rough clientele. He was not complaining. It paid the bills.“Mister, er uh, Willis, come on back,” he said glancing at the dossier in his hand and making a motion to follow him. The two men sat in Jamison’s office which had been decked out with hand-me-down. "Bob Parsons sat down in his favorite chair in the living room and watched the clock. He occasionally got up and checked to see if the phone was working or to look outside to see if Maggie was walking up the sidewalk. He fell into a fitful sleep about three o'clock in the morning and woke back up at six. It took a minute for him to remember why he was sleeping in the living room still dressed in his suit. He got up and walked to the bedroom to see if Maggie was in bed.For the first time, panic began to set in. He walked back downstairs and walked outside. The police car was still there in front of the house. He walked out to the police car. The policeman was writing on a paper in his clipboard and looked up as Senator Parsons neared the car. He rolled the window down."Have you heard anything from my wife?" he asked."They haven't told me anything Senator. Do you want me to call downtown?" No, I'll call from inside."Bob Parsons walked back into the house and picked up the phone and.
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