Damage Control by Robert Dugoni

said.
    Kathy did not look up. “Hello, Grant.”
    “I’m very sorry about James.”
    “Thank you.” Kathy swept up Molly in her arms. “Come on, angel, let’s go upstairs and read some books.”
    “Grandma’s sad.”
    “Yes, angel. Grandma’s very sad,” she said, carrying Molly back through the Dutch door.
    Dana stepped forward, burying her face against Grant’s starched white shirt, crying on his chest. He caressed the back of her head as the events of the day cascaded down on her like broken glass, leaving tiny, painful cuts. After a minute she stepped back and wiped her tears. She’d left a smudge of mascara on his shirt. “Thanks for bringing her out here.” Her voice was thick and husky.
    “I’d keep her with me if I could.”
    Dana cleared her throat, pulled a wad of tissue from her back pocket, and blew her nose. “It’s okay. I want her here with me. She’s good therapy for Mom.”
    Grant looked up at the dormer window on the second level. “How’s she doing?”
    “As well as can be expected. You could go up and talk with her.”
    Grant looked away from the window. “Probably not a good idea. I never seem to be able to say the right thing. You know she has issues with me. Have the police told you anything more?”
    She shook her head and closed her eyes. “They beat him to death, Grant.”
    “Jesus.”
    “For what?” she asked, feeling the anger burn. “James didn’t have anything. He’d given everything away after he quit practicing law. Why would they rob
him
? Why not come here?” She extended her arms. “This is where the money is.”
    “People here have walls and gates, Dana. They have security systems.”
    “They killed him for nothing, Grant. They killed my brother for nothing.”
    “And the police have no idea who it was, no leads of any kind?”
    “No,” she said, shaking her head. “They have fingerprints and shoe prints but nothing confirmed yet.” She sighed. “I’d like you to stay, Grant.”
    He stepped forward and held her again. He smelled of Armani cologne. It reminded her of law school and those moments when he had been there for her. But that was before the pressures of billable hours and making partner and finding and keeping clients had changed him. It was before ten years of getting up every morning and going to work to fight with someone had made him confrontational and cynical of people and their motives. It was before his own failures had made him resent her success. Sensitive to this, she rarely discussed her own career and instead focused on encouraging him, even after the second law firm had let him go. But after Molly’s birth, there wasn’t enough time in the day to be a wife, a cook, the family chauffeur, errand girl, lawyer, mommy, and to pacify a grown man’s ego. Grant responded by working more and finding excuses to stay out late.
    He spoke with his chin resting on the top of her head. “Your family needs you to be strong.” His hands pressed her shoulder blades, but she felt no warmth. His voice contained no comfort. The wool of his suit jacket itched her cheek. “You’re strong. If anyone can get through this, it’s you.”
    “It’s too much,” she said, crying again. “It hurts, Grant. God, it hurts to lose him.”
    He held her, and for a moment she thought he might stay. But then his hands slipped from her back. “You know I start the Nelson trial in Chicago on Monday, and the rest of this week is just out of control. Hell broke loose today. They filed thirteen motions in limine and a forty-five-page trial brief. I can’t do anything less.”
    “Couldn’t Bergman handle the trial?”
    He pulled back with a look of incredulity. “This is my chance. Bergman is giving me Nelson Industries on a silver platter. When I win, I’ll put another thirty million dollars in the shareholders’ pockets—the biggest contingency award in the history of the firm. I’ll be a superstar. It’s my tenure. Nelson Industries will be a