James

It was funny how everyone else’s life was falling into place, and mine suddenly seemed to spiral out of control. I’d all but forgotten about the incident earlier this fall. I’d hired an attorney in hopes of getting out of the DWI charges, and he’d assured me he’d take care of it. For what I paid him, I allowed him to carry the weight of that stress and hadn’t thought about it since.

“James Carpenter,” I announced when I answered the phone in my office.

“James. Scott Brawley.”

“Hey.” I wasn’t interested in the pleasantries of conversation when I paid this guy by the quarter of an hour. He needed to get to the point in the next fourteen minutes.

“Got a couple options for you.” He acted like I was buying a car, not my background check. Being in the financial industry, my record needed to stay squeaky clean—any mark could cause a backlash for the company.

“Lay it on me.”

“No one wants to bother taking this to court, which plays in our favor.”