In that room are a desk, several filing cabinets, bookcases, and lots of boxes.”Cain looked at her and frowned, uncomprehending.Brenda looked at her...watch. “It’s now 7:30. I’ll be in the records room by 10:00 to find details for the Family History.”“Brenda, I don’t understand,” Cain said, fearing that he understood all too well.The slender woman sat forward in her chair, all pretense of relaxed congeniality gone. “Meet me in the Records Room this morning Cain,” she said. “Just you and me. If I. Both?My parents were complicated citizens.Her next question, too, was predictable. "Where would you go to law school?" she asked.You'd think my Mom, high-powered Washington wheeler-dealer, might have gone to Harvard or Yale, right? At least Penn, or Chicago.Actually, she'd gone to law school at the University of Wisconsin.Hey, we've all got to start somewhere. I mean, Wisconsin had a perfectly good law school. It's just that -- now -- a quarter-century later, as the Next Generation, I was. More

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