James felt the gazes of the curious land on him. From a short couch, a thirtysomething man was trying to keep an energetic toddler entertained, but he kept glancing up at James, while a woman in her sixties in a nearby chair had her gaze fixed on both him and the information desk. Even the worried-looking elderly couple seated on linked chairs near a ficus tree looked up. They were huddled together while talking in hushed tones, the woman dabbing at her eyes, but their conversation had stopped as Gus began screaming out invectives.

Leon was hovering nearby. “You have a ride coming? Bobby?”

“Yeah. You can go back to work,” said James.

“Okay.” He gnawed on his lip. “But there’s something I think you should know.”

“What is it?”

Leon’s dark eyes shifted from one side to the other. “It’s about Gus. I saw him a little earlier, before he went to the saw and . . .” Leon rubbed a hand over his forehead as if he wasn’t certain he should continue.

“And—?” James said.

“And . . . I don’t know. I just caught a glimpse of his hand, but I think it was fucked up before he went to the saw.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that it didn’t look right. Like maybe it was swollen or bruised, so maybe he shouldn’t have been working, you know. Maybe he messed up because his grip was off . . . oh, qué carajo . . . what the fuck.”

“You think?” James asked.

“I don’t know, man, but it seems like now he’s trying to blame you.”

“Why?”

“You heard him. A lawsuit. Easy money.” Then, as if he’d said too much, Leon added, “I’d better go,” and took off for the sliding doors. James was tossing over what he’d said when he heard a quiet cough.

“Ooo-kay,” the woman behind the desk said, bringing his attention back to her. “Why don’t we get started? We can begin with his personal information. As much of it as you know. I’ll confirm with him later.” The ID tag hanging from a lanyard around her neck indicated she was Sharon Nader, but the picture on the badge was barely recognizable as she’d cut and changed her hair color from a medium brown to flaming red, gained at least thirty pounds, and added cat’s-eye glasses. “Have a seat.”

“He’s right about the fact that I don’t know a lot about him,” James admitted.

“How are you related?”

“I’m his boss. The accident happened in my shop.”

“Well, then, you can tell me whatever information you know. He’ll fill in the blanks.” She glanced up and added, “He seems pretty verbal.”

James nodded. “As I said, he works for me. At Cahill Industries. In the tiny house division.”