The door to his office burst open without a knock. Denny Crane, in a seersucker suit despite the November chill, stomped in, carrying a shotgun case.

Brad sighed. “That’s not a legal strategy. That’s a tantrum.”

“It’s also effective,” Shirley said, a rare glint of approval in her eye. “The man cried because Alan quoted The Velveteen Rabbit at him for twenty minutes. Keep an eye on him. And Denny. They’re like two supernovas collapsing. Brilliant, but they’ll take the whole firm with them if we’re not careful.”

Denny set the case down with a heavy thud. “Bernie. My bird dog. He’s being sued for ‘emotional distress’ by a cat.” He poured himself two fingers of Alan’s scotch. “A cat , Alan. The world has gone soft.”

And that was enough. For now.

“And what do I do when they ignore me?” Brad asked.

Brad just nodded. He was still trying to figure out the rules. It would take him a long time to realize that at Crane, Poole & Schmidt, the only real rule was loyalty. To the firm. To the fight. To the strange, broken, brilliant family that had gathered under those humming fluorescent lights.