"I'VE BEEN OVER THE contracts with a fine-toothed comb." Tucker McGee, attorney and sometimes community theater actor, sat back in his chair, an expression of regret on his face. "You're up shit creek, man."
Myles dropped his face into his hands. "I was afraid of that."
In the wake of Mr. Bondurant's departure, he'd flat out lied to his staff that everything was fine, then closeted himself in his office, working his ass off until day's end, and waiting until they'd all left to pull out the original contract to pore over it himself into the wee hours. He'd spent the last two days searching, in vain, for some other answer. Finding none, he'd brought them to his buddy to look over, hoping for some kind of miracle. No such luck.
"If you'd been my client when this whole deal went down, I'd never have let you sign this. Did you even read the whole thing?"
Myles bristled. "Yeah, I read it. But the possibility seemed so remote, it felt like it was worth the risk."
"Why?"