I needed to stop for a while, needed a drink.

Should have gone home, had a drink with Chris.

I was working.

Working? That late? What kind of work were you doing, Spencer?

Look, go easy on me, OK? I’m only doing all this ’cause you left me, Marielle!

Is that why they all had to die, Spencer? Because of me? Or you? Tell me which you think.

And he didn’t even feel the steering wheel dig into his forehead as he cried.

“If you’d come to see me sooner, Mister Burnham, this all would have stopped quicker. My client has been quite, well, agitated.”

Chris’s lawyer was a corpulent man. Even with a fan at either end of his desk, Jay Rumley’s face glistened. He had to push his glasses back up his nose every time he looked down. Spencer wanted to reach over and undo his top button; some of the blood in his head looked like it needed to drain back into his body.

“Chris has a low stress threshold,” said Spencer. “But he is getting my calls and letters and they’re freaking him out. And a repo guy came yesterday looking for a car that I don’t have anymore. It’s probably been sold.”

“Let them fight it out,” Rumley said. “The bank probably took and sold all the stock because they were secured creditors.”

Though he may have been corpulent, Rumley was capable. Within an hour he’d handled all the documentation for a Chapter 7 and printed letters to put Spencer’s pursuers on to Ron-at-the-Bank’s trail.

“Let’s just be thorough though.”

He made a few calls and tapped away on his keyboard. He made one more call and then sat back in his seat.

“So most of your stock’s gone,” he said. “Not all though. Some of it was damaged during a break-in. Three cars. They’re going to auction next week.”

Spencer thanked him and paid him in cash. He got up to leave.

“Chris tells me you were good at selling cars,” said Jay suddenly, like he’d remembered something. “Said Winchester’s misfortunes were down to, uh, factors beyond your control. Is selling cars something you’d consider doing again?”

Spencer stopped midstride. He’d heard that if you were ready for change then, miraculously, doors would open. He hadn’t been to the depot since the night his car had been stolen a few days ago. McGrath had called to check up on him, but Spencer had said he needed a few days to himself.

McGrath’s gig was crazy shit. Spencer had made a little pile of money and now it was time to move on, while he was still alive.

“Not for myself,” said Spencer.