People complain about Alaska, but Minnesota isn’t all that warm either. I walk into the lawyer’s high-rise building downtown, dressed in slacks and a button-down, feeling very much like my f*****g father. All I need is a pair of loafers and I’d be him. But I’m pretty sure my usual casual attire of jeans and a T-shirt won’t cut it in this circumstance.
Looking at the directory on the side of the wall by the elevator bank, I find David Webb’s name and round the corner to press the up button. The office building is pretty busy, but then again, it’s first thing in the morning. After flying in last night, I was wiped out from my night with Molly, so I crashed hard.
Taking the elevator up to the sixteenth floor, I step out and follow the signs to David Webb’s office and walk in. There’s a smal
