Albert Kucera wasn’t a man who enjoyed explaining himself.
Once he’d made a decision, he expected everyone else to accept it.
My wife, Theresa, sat beside me.
Her hand rested firmly on my knee beneath the table.
I knew she was angry.
But she didn’t interrupt.
I stood, thanked Don, and shook his hand.
Then I walked downstairs.
Outside, a bitter north wind swept across the street.
Theresa followed me to our pickup.
“Wade, you need another attorney.”
“No.”
“Someone independent. Someone who can review that will.”
“No, Theresa.”
She
