A week later, they sat in a sun-drenched office in Providence. The attorney, a woman named Elena who had grown up in Pawtucket, didn't lead with legal jargon. She led with a map. She pointed to the very docks where Arthur had spent his youth.
He remembered the dust. It had been everywhere in the sixties and seventies—clinging to the pipes he insulated, coating his coveralls, and dancing in the shafts of light inside the hulls of submarines. They hadn’t told him then that the "white dust" was asbestos, or that it would wait decades to steal his breath. mesothelioma attorney rhode island
"The companies that supplied that insulation knew the risks," Elena explained, her voice steady and calm. "You spent your life building things for this state, Arthur. Now, it’s time we hold them accountable for what they took from you." A week later, they sat in a sun-drenched