Back The Last Thing He Told Me
Chapters (51)
  1. Title Page
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Prologue
  5. — Part 1 —
  6. If You Answer the Door for Strangers…
  7. Greene Street Before It Was Greene Street
  8. Don’t Ask a Question You Don’t Want the Answer To
  9. Think What You Want
  10. Twenty-Four Hours Earlier
  11. Follow the Money
  12. Help Is on the Way
  13. These Are Not Your Friends
  14. Don’t Hold This Against Me
  15. Six Weeks Ago
  16. Bailey’s No Good Very Bad Day
  17. What Don’t You Want to Remember?
  18. — Part 2 —
  19. Keep Austin Weird
  20. Who Needs a Tour Guide?
  21. Three Months Ago
  22. Little White Churches
  23. Not Everyone Is a Good Helper
  24. Eight Months Ago
  25. Sorry, We’re Open
  26. Two Can Play at That Game
  27. One Year Ago
  28. Delete All History
  29. It’s Science, Isn’t It?
  30. Some Students Are Better Than Others
  31. Fourteen Months Ago
  32. If You Marry the Prom King…
  33. The Never Dry
  34. Careful What You Wish For
  35. Eighteen Months Ago
  36. The Good Lawyer
  37. — Part 3 —
  38. When We Were Young
  39. Everyone Should Take Inventory
  40. The Never Dry, Part Two
  41. On the Lake
  42. Two Years Ago
  43. You Have to Do Some Things on Your Own
  44. The Devil Is in the Details
  45. Finding My Way Back to Her
  46. Two Years and Four Months Ago
  47. Sometimes You Can Go Home Again
  48. Five Years Later. Or Eight. Or Ten.
  49. Acknowledgments
  50. About the Author
  51. Also by Laura Dave

“These gentlemen at the head of Harris’s organization decided I showed the kind of prowess that was integral to keeping their workforce… working. So they flew me and my wife to South Florida on a private plane. I had never flown first class before, let alone on a private plane. But they flew me there on their plane and put us up in a waterfront hotel suite with our own butler and made me a business proposition, one that felt difficult to say no to.” He pauses. “I’m not quite sure why I mention the plane or the oceanfront butler. Maybe to suggest to you I was more than slightly out of my depth with my employers. Not that I’m saying that I didn’t have a choice in working for them. I believe you always have a choice. And the choice I made was to defend people who, by law, deserve a proper defense. There’s honor in that. I never lied to my family about it. I spared them some of the details, but they knew the general picture and they knew I didn’t cross any lines. I did my job. I took care of my family. At the end of the day, it’s not all that different from working for a tobacco company,” he says. “The same moral calculation needs to be made.”

“Except I wouldn’t work for a tobacco company either,” I say.

“Well, we don’t all have the luxury of your strict moral code,” he says.

There’s an edge to how he says this. I’m taking a chance, arguing with him, except it occurs to me that this may be precisely why he is walking me through his history, the version of it he wants me to see. To test me. To test whether I’m going to do exactly that—argue, engage. This has to be why he presented his story this way—this is the first test. He wants to see whether I’ll blindly let him spin in order to ingratiate myself to him or whether I’ll be human.

“It’s not that my moral code is so strict, but it seems to me that your employers are causing all sorts of harm and you knew that,” I say. “And you still chose to help them.”

“Oh, is that the distinction?” he says. “Do no harm? What about the harm you do when you rip a child from her family right after she loses her mother? What about the harm you do when you deprive that child of knowing everyone who could have reminded her of her mother? Everyone who loved her?”