Gray nodded. A new lesson in the education of Grayson Hernandez: No mercy.
“I said, do you understand?” the chief repeated, his tone harsh.
“Yes, chief.”
“Good. Now get out of my office.”
CHAPTER 44
Later that afternoon, Lauren popped by Gray and Praveen’s office. She had a concerned look on her face. Praveen glanced up at her, but then continued typing.
“Are you okay?” she said to Gray. “I heard about you and Keir.”
“That’s funny,” Gray said, “I heard about you and Keir.”
Praveen stopped typing. He stood and said, “I’m going to get some coffee.” A clumsy escape. Praveen obviously didn’t want to bear witness to relationship drama. But their co-clerk stopped at the door when he heard the buzz of the intercom.
Praveen picked up the receiver and listened. “No, Lauren’s here, I’ll tell her. We’ll be right there.” He hung up the line. “The chief wants to meet about the Wakefield Estates case.”
Five minutes later, the five clerks sat around the chief’s desk, the usual formation. These gatherings, where the clerks got to work through tough legal questions with the chief, were one of Gray’s favorite things about the job.
The chief addressed them all. “First off, now that everyone’s cooled off, I think it’s important to mention that for this to work”—the chief waved a hand around in the air—“we have to be a team.” His gaze cut to Keir, then Gray. “Am I understood?”
Keir unexpectedly stood and extended his hand. Gray took it.
“Okay, we’ve been due for some good news, and I have some,” the chief said. “Justice Cutler has come back to us on Filstein.”
“Yes!” Keir’s spirits seemed immediately lifted.
The chief gave a satisfied smile. “We’re going to have to accommodate some changes to the opinion, but she’s back on board. Keir, we can talk later. For now, let’s talk about Wakefield Estates.”
Gray was impressed at how the chief switched gears. He supposed that Douglas was used to vote-changing in important cases. The chief also never let them forget that the court always issued all of its decisions by June. Always. Filstein was just one of seventy-two cases. As Gray sat with his brilliant, if annoying, co-clerks, he reminded himself of the rare opportunity he’d been given. To work on the most important cases of the day. Gray would no longer get caught up in relationship or workplace drama. No longer get sucked into FBI investigations. He was done.
“So, as I understand it,” the chief said, “the government not only paid residents above fair market value for their homes, but also gave relocation expenses and no-interest loans for new houses?” The Wakefield litigation involved eminent domain, the government’s ability to take private property for public use so long as it paid a fair price. A local government in Massachusetts was trying to clean up a blighted area, a crime-filled community known as Wakefield Estates.
“That’s right, no one disputes that the government paid more than fair value,” Lauren said.
“So what’s the beef?”
“The community was predominantly minorities,” Praveen said. “They wouldn’t come in and do this to a white neighborhood.”
“But that would prevent local governments from ever cleaning up blighted areas where minorities live,” Keir said. “Most of the crime in the community occurred in Wakefield Estates, and most of the residents themselves had been begging the local government to do something about it.”
“But the local government here is in bed with a major developer,” Lauren said. “It’s time to revisit what ‘public use’ means for eminent domain. It’s supposed to mean using the land for the public, not building condos for rich people. But the lower courts have been misreading the Supreme Court’s cases, and allowing unsavory relationships between government and companies.”
Mike, whose dad was a land developer, said, “I think that’s easy to say when you grew up on an actual estate. Have you ever even driven through a blighted area?”
Lauren said nothing.
The chief justice smiled. “I’m glad I’m not the only one struggling with this.” His gaze settled on Gray. “I’d be interested in your views, Grayson.”
They all expected Gray, he presumed, to side with the African Americans whose homes would be torn down and replaced by shiny new condos. Funny how even educated people assumed that all minorities think alike. He considered staying out of the fray, playing it safe, but he decided to plead truth. “I think the kids in Wakefield know nothing of the world. The only people with money are the drug dealers. I bet every single kid there knows someone who’s been murdered. There’s no opportunities for them.” Gray thought about the public housing building across the street from the apartment complex where he grew up. It was where Arturo first got pulled into crime.
The other clerks kept their eyes on the floor, uncomfortable. “So I think Wakefield Estates is a kind of prison,” Gray said. “And when someone offers to pay you to get out of a prison, you take the money and you run.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well, okay then,” the chief said. “I don’t think this is one that the briefs and record will answer. I have an idea for this month’s First Saturday event. We’re going to have to ditch Justice Wall’s team. And you’ll need to pack a bag…”
* * *
On Saturday, December 5, Gray found himself in a Cessna traveling to Massachusetts. The first airplane ride of his life—not that he told anyone that—and he and his co-clerks were jammed in a plane that was not much bigger than an SUV. He kept thinking of all the rock stars who died in planes like this. The flight was bumpy, and he gripped the arm of the seat. Keir took a nap.
The chief was a longtime pilot and often flew to his second home on Martha’s Vineyard. The chief spent most court recesses on the island, and for the December recess, the clerks would join him. They’d work out of the chief’s place until Christmas. But first, they were stopping in Massachusetts to tour Wakefield Estates.
They landed with a hard bump on a small airstrip in an industrial area, met by six officers from the court’s police force. Three black Suburbans were waiting for them. The chief and clerks climbed into the middle vehicle of the motorcade.
Instead of a walking tour of Wakefield Estates on their own, they observed from a bulletproof SUV. It wasn’t like a scene from Grand Theft Auto. It was mostly a lot of stares, and young black men ducking into alleys between dilapidated houses. Gray had seen his share of poverty, but he was surprised at the state of the community. A few homes had been cared for. But most were ravaged, windows covered in plywood, tires and debris in the yards. Overgrown lots where bony stray dogs roamed. A man in rags pushing a shopping cart. Gray was convinced more than ever that the solution for the residents was to take the money and run. Even Praveen and Lauren, who were against the government taking the property, looked less certain now.
The chief stared out the window, his face full of despair. “You forget how lucky we all are, what a bubble we live in.” He looked at Grayson. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. If you can get out of poverty and have a better life, you should. And you should never look back. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER 45
“You okay, Em?” Cartwright asked.
Milstein didn’t look up from her office computer. “I’m fine. Would you stop asking me that?” She continued to type, tapping out instructions to the team. It was December 5, and they had no bead on Kevin Dugan or John Whitlock. Nothing. A small army of agents had been working around the clock.
“They interview Dugan’s ex-wife again?” Milstein asked.
“Yeah, and the kids. Dugan had fallen out of their lives and into the bottle years ago. They have no idea where he is. But the ex still doesn’t think he’d turn violent.”
“How about the Supreme Court interview reports?”
“I read them myself. Aaron’s team met with every ju
stice. And they’re scrutinizing every staff member who fits the profile. He ordered a twenty-four-hour security detail for all of the justices today. The chief justice is out of town and they sent a travel team for him as well.”
Milstein continued to type. She was amped up on caffeine and adrenaline. She felt Cartwright staring at her, and finally looked up from her screen. He had a concerned look on his face.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“I know you’re stressed out that it’s December fifth, but we’re doing everything we can.” He gave a half smile. “The junior agents are starting to call you Carrie Mathison.”
Great, they thought she was acting like the bipolar agent from Homeland. She sighed loudly and ran a hand through her hair. It felt greasy and unwashed, which it was. “I just can’t believe we still have nothing. What if he murders another kid? Another woman?” Milstein’s voice broke. She collected herself. She’d never shed a tear in the office, and wasn’t going to start now. She looked at Cartwright. “If he strikes again, they’re for sure gonna give the investigation over to the task force and Aaron Dowell.”
Cartwright came over and put a hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t all on you. And the writing’s already on the wall about the task force. If the killer doesn’t strike, they’ll say we were wrong. If he does strike, they’ll say we failed to stop it. This has nothing to do with you or me. It’s politics.”
* * *
By 2:00 a.m. there’d been no homicides reported in D.C. or the surrounding area. Cartwright came back to Milstein’s office and put two tumblers on her desk. He filled each with two fingers of whiskey.
“Congratulations,” Cartwright said. “We made it.”
Milstein nodded. “You saw the e-mail from the Director of National Intelligence?”
Cartwright nodded. “Aaron’s getting his task force.”
The DNI’s e-mail said that Milstein and Cartwright were still on the team. But that surely meant they would soon be marginalized. The e-mail also said that “the task force will spend virtually all resources focused on finding former Special Agent Kevin Dugan.” Exactly what Milstein would expect from an uncreative thinker like Aaron Dowell.
Milstein smelled the whiskey and shuddered. She steeled herself, then downed the glass. “Fuck Aaron Dowell.”
CHAPTER 46
After the depressing tour of Wakefield Estates, Gray and his co-clerks filed back into the chief’s plane and headed to “the Vineyard,” as the clerks called it. Gray didn’t know what to expect of this stomping ground of presidents, CEOs, and the idle rich. In the end, it didn’t matter. The clerks spent those first days sequestered in makeshift offices in the chief’s second home.
Despite the close quarters, Gray kept his distance from Lauren. She played all-business on the plane and at the chief’s place, but he could tell his purposeful indifference was getting under her skin, which was fine with him.
They worked on finalizing the decisions scheduled for release the first week of January. There was Gray’s Jando search-and-seizure case, and Mike’s dissent in the school speech case. And there was Lauren’s tax case. As the smartest of the group, Lauren was penalized with the most challenging cases involving technical areas of the law. Keir worked exclusively on Filstein. Historically, the court released blockbuster cases like Filstein the last week of the term in June. But the chief wanted the decision locked down as soon as possible. He didn’t want to give Justice Cutler time to change her mind and switch sides again.
Gray excused himself to the restroom. He was about to shut the door of the bathroom in the back of the main floor when Lauren slipped inside behind him. She shut the door and faced him.
“What are you doing?” Gray whispered. He did not want to be caught in the restroom with Lauren in the chief’s home. Clerk relationships weren’t strictly forbidden, but they weren’t encouraged either. And bathroom hookups at a justice’s house were a definite no-no.
“I’ve been trying to talk with you, but we’re never alone.” She turned on the tap to conceal their voices. “Is there something the matter? You’ve been so cold to me. If this is about Keir, it was a long time ago, it meant nothing, I—”
“It’s not about Keir,” Gray said.
“Then what? What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said.
She stared at him for a long time.
“Just disappointed, I suppose.” Gray let that hang there.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gray turned off the water and unlocked the door, but she stood in his path. She gazed at him with those eyes.
“How’d you like my condo?” he said.
She looked at him like she didn’t understand.
“In Georgetown. I believe you were someone’s guest there on Thanksgiving.”
She held his stare. “You’ve got the wrong idea. You don’t understand—”
There were voices in the hallway. They froze, listening for whether someone was waiting outside to use the restroom. After a long moment, Gray opened the door a crack. No one was there. “Let’s talk about this later,” he said. Lauren started to speak, but Gray shook his head. “Later.”
Later didn’t come until the end of the trip. As promised, at four o’clock on Christmas Eve the chief released them. He was hosting some friends from the island for dinner, and the clerks were welcome to stay. Keir, Mike, and Praveen left right away, rushing to catch the last ferry off the island. Gray didn’t understand the urgency. They were five hundred miles from D.C. and it was unlikely they’d make any flights out tonight. But perhaps the real reason he didn’t rush off was Lauren’s text asking him to stay.
“Chief, I was thinking of showing Gray around the island,” Lauren said. “Want to come?”
“I’ve got some work to do and I need to get ready for my guests, so you both go ahead. Feel free to use the Jeep. The keys are on the hook in the kitchen.”
Lauren took charge as usual, driving Gray to her favorite spot on the island. Gray shouldn’t have been surprised that Lauren had been to the Vineyard before. Never “off season,” she said, noting that many of the businesses were closed in the winter and that her family had “summered” there. He never got used to summer and winter as verbs.
At the western end of the island, Gray gazed at the cliffs and the old brick lighthouse ahead. The sun was coming down and it cast yellow highlights across the vast field.
“In the summer, this area is packed with tourists,” Lauren said. She told him that the island had only 15,000 year-round residents, which increased to 115,000 during the summer. She parked the Jeep, grabbed a rucksack she’d packed, and led him through the tall reeds. There was a chill in the air, but it was unseasonably warm for December.
“It’s not what you think,” she said marching through the reeds. “I wasn’t at your place for—”
“You know what?” Gray interrupted. “Let’s not. It’s Christmas Eve.”
“No, you have the wrong idea.” She stopped walking. “I was there to see you.”
Gray had spent a good amount of time thinking about Lauren at his condo, picturing her in the arms of Justice Wall. He’d also worked through the various innocent reasons she could’ve been at his place. But he’d missed the most obvious explanation: she was there to see Gray.
“But I thought your aunt was in town for Thanksgiving?”
“She flaked on me. So I went over to the homeless shelter and volunteered to serve dinner. Then I thought you might want some company.”
“Why didn’t you just say so?”
“I didn’t know you saw me there.” She hesitated. “I would’ve mentioned coming by your place, but that night I saw something I probably shouldn’t have.”
“What do you mean?” Gray said, intrigued.
“When I knocked, Justice Wall came to the door.” Lauren had a glint in her eyes. “I saw a woman in the apartment.”
“That’s not exactly fresh news. Everybody knows Wall has—”
/> “It wasn’t just any woman. It was Dora Baxter.”
“The solicitor general?” The SG was the government’s top lawyer before the Supreme Court. An affair was bad enough, but the relationship created possible conflicts of interest for Justice Wall and Baxter. Also, the administration was grooming Baxter to be the next nominee when the court had a vacancy. It was a scandal in the making.
“You’re sure?”
“I wouldn’t forget her. Remember I told you what a bitch she was to me at my interview for the assistant SG spot?”
“Was she there for work?”
Lauren’s eyes widened. “I don’t think so.”
“All this drama. It’s like the Real Housewives of One First Street.”
A breeze blew across the field and Lauren wrapped her arms around him as they continued walking. “Are your parents angry you’re missing Christmas Eve?” she asked.
“You have no idea.”
Lauren stopped at a secluded spot. She pulled a blanket from the rucksack. And then a bottle of wine. She arched a brow.
“Where’d you get that?” Gray asked.
“Let’s just say the chief won’t miss a bottle from his vast collection.” She then unzipped Gray’s jacket and put her cold hands inside his shirt. His anger at her dissipated as she pulled him on top of the blanket where they were surrounded by tall blowing reeds. She unbuttoned his jeans, aggressive, hungry for him. After slipping out of her leggings, she straddled him, eyes closed as she put his hands to her breasts.
There was an excitement, outside where they might be caught, an electricity he’d never felt before with anyone. Afterward, lying on his back staring into the sky, he thought about how his life had changed so quickly. A high-powered job, penthouse condo, luxury sports car, and a beautiful woman. But then his father’s voice intruded on his thoughts:
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