MIRA

It’s strange how power changes the air in a room.

Months after the ruling, after courts and police stations and hospital corridors, I’m sitting in a glass conference room high above the city, staring at a stack of documents thicker than any textbook I ever held in school.

The estate lawyers call it “the unification.” I call it the end of an era. And maybe, if I’m brave enough, the beginning of another. Jackson sits beside me, his recovery slow but steady. His arm rests on the ...