Lethal Lawyers

by Dale E. Manolakas

  Sophia felt protected in Taylor’s arms and started to regain control. She wished she had never lost it. Now she had to tell this “friend” of Roger something—but not the truth.

  “You’ll think I’m crazy.” Sophia stalled because she didn’t really know just how loyal Taylor was to Roger.

  “I won’t. Or I might. But either way I like you, Sophia. I want to help.”

  Taylor smiled down at her and she melted into his ever-sparkly ebony eyes. She decided she had more confidence in him than the detective. His smile and dimples had disarmed her the first time she had met him at the recruiting dinner. Now, in his arms, Sophia took a long breath and felt warm and safe.

  “I like you too.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes. For Sophia it was like a first kiss, long and tender and uncharted.

  Taylor gave her a squeeze, set her in her chair, and went and sat down. “Okay. Confess everything. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “It’s hard because I don’t know if I’m just imagining things. But something is not right here.”

  “Here?”

  “At Thorne & Chase.”

  “That’s a broad stroke. There is a lot not right here. What do you mean?”

  “It hit me in the Management Committee meeting today . . .”

  “Wait. What were you doing at a Management Committee meeting? I leave for one afternoon to go to court and you’re meeting with the movers and shakers, the rainmakers.” Taylor razzed her. “You’re amazing.”

  “Come on. This is serious. The committee, or what’s left of the committee, wanted to know what I knew about Judith and Frank’s deaths. They interviewed Roger, too.”

  “That seems normal to me. And so why are you crying?”

  “It’s hard to explain . . . but I looked at the three of them and realized . . . well, there used to be five.”

  “And?”

  “Taylor, in less than a week, two senior partners on the Management Committee have had accidents. Deadly accidents. Don’t you get it?”

  “No. I don’t, Sophia. Things happen.”

  “Things happen. Yes. But not these things.”

  “Are you saying these weren’t accidents?”

  “I don’t know, but I know that’s what the detective is saying and the management committee is on board.”

  “Do you realize how crazy that sounds?”

  “Yes, it does. But after you talk to Detective Rutger, it doesn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t pass that around.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Good,” Taylor crumpled two more sheets of her yellow pad into the waste paper basket and missed. “Two for four.”

  There was silence.

  “I’m sorry, Sophia. I just don’t know what else to say to you. It’s unfathomable to me that you would buy into this mass hysteria . . . this fiction. To me, it’s unbelievable that it’s anything but coincidence.”

  “Maybe because I’m new, I see things differently. Two deaths of two people so hated?”

  “Hated? Enough for murder?”

  “The fights. The threats. The client thefts. Come on, Taylor.”

  “That’s just business.”

  “I was at Bode for a summer. I didn’t see any of this.”

  “All firms are on their best behavior for summer associates. Besides, the stakes are higher here.”

  “You weren’t at the dinner with Frank and Roger Monday night. Frank cancelled Roger’s depo and kicked him off the case. I saw the hate in Roger’s eyes.”

  “It’s not like Frank hasn’t kicked a million people off cases. Your friend Tricia was kicked off one. That’s Frank. He’s a volcano. He erupts and then settles down.” Taylor thought a moment. “Or used to. I will miss the drama king.”

  “Taylor, stop.” Sophia looked directly at him. “Roger was there at the intersection. I know I saw him.”

  A vacuum of silence froze both of them. Finally, Taylor spoke.

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Was he near Frank?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you see him do something?”

  “No, but I heard Roger’s threats at dinner. And I heard the truck driver shout that Frank had jumped, which is absurd. And . . . I saw . . . Roger walking away.”

  “I . . . I know Roger,” Taylor said. “It just has to be coincidence.”

  “Coincidence?”

  “Come on. You’ve been watching too many movies.”

  “Then what was Roger doing going through my desk this afternoon when he thought I was at lunch?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I caught him with his hands in my top drawer.”

  “What did he say he was doing?”

  “Looking for the Gant correspondence file.”

  “Then that’s what he was doing.

  “It was right in front of him on the desk.”

  “He didn’t see it. Come on. I have been working with Roger, Joe, and Marvin for a long time to try to resolve this client-stealing business by full partners. We have a plan. That plan does not include murder.” Taylor got up. “You know, Sophia. You’re right. I think you’re a little crazy about this.”

  “I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “No. No. No. I’m sorry. You have a lot on your plate and you’ve been through a lot. I just think you’re wrong. Our group has a good game plan, and Roger would lose too much if he did what you think he did. Let me look into this.”

  “That’s fine.” Sophia was starting to feel like a fool. “I want to believe you. But look into it fast, because that detective is pressuring me.”

  “What have you told him?” Taylor asked.

  “Nothing yet,” She hedged her bets. “Sometimes . . . I’m actually not sure if I saw Roger at the intersection at all.”

  “Well, did you see him or not? You have to be sure before you implicate someone in murder. That detective evidently wants a promotion and is going to get it on Roger’s back.”

  “I did see him, but I just can’t believe it, or don’t want to believe it.”

  “I’m sure Roger can clear this up.”

  “I don’t think you should tell him I saw him.”

  “Trust me. I’ll be careful and make it casual.”

  “Promise me you won’t mention Detective Rutger pressuring me.”

  “Fine. But I know the detective has talked to Roger already. He may have told him.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Please. Promise me. Promise?”

  “I promise. Don’t worry.” Taylor used a soft, reassuring voice. “And promise me you’re not going to talk about this with anyone else. You do sound a bit nutty.”

  “Okay. The Management Committee didn’t think anything of Roger and Frank’s fight, anyway.”

  “See?” Taylor smiled. “You hungry?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Let’s go. The Italian place? You need to get your mind off all this.”

  Sophia grabbed her purse from the drawer where Doug’s calendar was taped and hidden.

  “Now, you’re sure you didn't tell the Management Committee you saw Roger at the intersection?”

  “No. They didn’t ask.”

  “Good.”

  ⌘

  Chapter 47

  Tiramisu and Taylor

  The Italian restaurant was busy for a Wednesday work night: there were couples into themselves, singles into everyone, friends in foursomes, and a loud group at a long table celebrating with birthday paraphernalia. The black granite bar was sparsely peopled with business-type, wine-sipping minglers.

  Taylor got a small table in the corner. As he and Sophia followed the maître d’, she was less taken with the ambience. She saw that the umber walls were dirty and marred, the ceiling was actually faux copper eighteen-inch tiles sloppily applied, and the paintings were one-dimensional flat prints. Sophia thought to herself that the “faux-ness” of their Italian theatrics was as
obvious as the Commedia dell’Arte masks.

  Taking her seat, Sophia decided to suspend her worries about everything that night. After all, Taylor was helping her now. At this moment, with Taylor, she had no regrets about switching from Bode. She knew it was academic, anyway, because she had to make it the standard two years vetting time with a firm before she could hope to move to another good firm. However, at this very moment sitting with Taylor, she had no regrets.

  They both ignored the menus, but not the moment.

  “Stuffed artichoke hearts again?”

  “Yes. Let’s do it! And the lobster ravioli again.”

  “My favorite.”

  “I know.”

  “Red?”

  “Of course.”

  From the sommelier Taylor again ordered a bottle of the 2003 Manzone Barolo Le Gramolere. Then the waiter took their order.

  As they drank their wine with their artichokes and bread, Sophia talked about her family and her sister.

  “Hey, we should talk about you. All I’ve been doing is talking about me. Me. Me. Me.” Sophia laughed.

  “I like you. You. You. You.” Taylor smiled his dimpled smile and ordered another bottle of wine.

  She touched Taylor’s hand resting on the table. “And I you.”

  * * *

  Over ravioli, they commiserated about law school and Taylor kept the wine flowing. Sophia felt smart, beautiful, and important.

  “So tell me about the Management Committee this afternoon?” Taylor said.

  “I already told you. I was a perfect witness to nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  She leaned her elbows on the table and gave a big, Cheshire-cat smile.

  “Absolu . . .” Sophia’s tongue killed the word on the way out. “Absolute . . . ly. Nothing . . . Nothing.”

  “Okay . . . definitively . . . Nothing?”

  “I know how to be deposed and say nothing. Because I decided I know nothing.” Sophia whispered. “And even if I do, I am not telling.”

  “And why is that?” Taylor probed.

  “Because.” She began biting her lip to fight back her impending, unattractive tears. “I am not brave enough to do the right thing.”

  Taylor took her hand. “But I’d call you smart and very brave. You won’t help that son-of-a-bitch detective crucify one of our own with baseless innuendo. The press is already making more of this than is there. Everyone’s hungry for a story on a slow news day.”

  Sophia relaxed into a tipsy, happy fog. “You’re right! Baseless inn . . . innu . . . endo. And hungry press. To hell with all of them.”

  They toasted to her, the firm, and their dinner.

  Sophia ate her tiramisu and drank her espresso, gazing at Taylor and listening to his entertaining chatter. Taylor killed the bottle of wine and his own cup of espresso.

  They left the restaurant arm-in-arm. Under an adjacent awning that silhouetted the streetlights, Taylor stopped. He put both arms around Sophia’s waist and touched her lips with his. Their breaths, smelling of wine and espresso, joined. His spicy, musty smell and strong, sandpapered cheek piqued Sophia’s senses until all thought fell away. She reached up and took the back of Taylor’s muscular neck guiding him down into her. His lips parted hers, decisively.

  Taylor took out a key to one of the firm’s overnight condos from his suit coat pocket.

  * * *

  In the condo, Sophia looked out over the jeweled view from the 20th floor.

  “This is amazing.”

  “It will be.”

  Taylor came from behind, put his body against hers, and ran his hands from her waist to her breasts and then down between her legs under her skirt. He was bare-chested already.

  “Wait. Don’t,” she whispered breathlessly. “Slow down.”

  He didn’t. Instead his fingers went deep inside her. He moved them in and out in a way she had never felt before . . . in a way that made her instantaneously wet. She laid her head back on his chest and moaned in pleasure, ready.

  Taylor turned Sophia toward him. She caressed his chest and shoulders with curious delight. Taylor grinned. He turned Sophia’s face to his, put his lips on hers, and kissed her. His kiss was hard, forcing her lips apart and filling her mouth with his tongue. The taste of wine and espresso made Sophia gag, but she submitted willingly to the strength, the passion, the urgency, both his and now hers.

  Taylor peeled her coat and blouse off and backed Sophia onto the bed, skirt up around her waist.

  It was a straight missionary fuck. Panties pulled aside and Taylor’s pants and jockeys at his ankles.

  They both came fast.

  It was good enough.

  ⌘

  Chapter 48

  Toakenism

  Sophia got home at one a.m., but still arrived at the office early the next morning. Building security was now keeping the press from loitering in the lobby. As she waited for the up elevator to her office in the marble lobby, she was happy. This was her building, her firm, and her future. Her Taylor.

  She ignored Marlene’s desk and Toak’s five tapes. She got coffee in the firm’s black and gold mug and went to her office. She hung her suit coat behind the door on the firm’s brass hook and wood hanger and put her purse in the drawer with Doug’s taped notes under it.

  As she sat behind her desk, Sophia still felt Taylor and smelled him. In her mind, she reevaluated his urgency, his need, and his excellent carnal technique. Then in her heart, she replayed his passion, his dispassion, and his actually rather unceremonious moves that got the job done for both of them. What was she to him? Her mind sputtered from love to doubt and then back to love.

  She shook the thoughts off and charged herself up with the coffee. She thought about her bi-monthly paycheck. Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was payday. She would get less than two weeks pay because of her start date, but it would be huge anyway. Sophia then billed 1.5 to administration, learning from the handbook how to enter her billables into the computer program.

  Then Toak called.

  “Yes. I’ll be right down.”

  Sophia didn’t know what he wanted. She didn’t care today, post-Taylor. She was through with all the firm’s drama. She knew she hadn’t bothered Toak’s little girlfriend and hadn’t complained about her stonewalling.

  * * *

  Toak’s office his door was open. Sophia knocked lightly and went in. Marlene walked out.

  “Good morning.” She greeted Marlene in passing, committed to getting along, but still not addressing her as Ms. Valero.

  “Come in,” Toak said. “I have a client, Charles Higgins, the CEO of American International Corporation, who is in a mess, a real mess. I could use some of that brain you used on the goddess case here.”

  “Oh?” Sophia wished she hadn’t shown off for Frank and set the bar so high. “My plate is a little full.”

  “I know you lost Frank’s goddess case. So this will fill in. Besides, this is a discrete assignment and very interesting. The SEC filed a complaint against the company. We represent Mr. Higgins, but realistically he is the company. There are allegations of company book-cooking.”

  “Book-cooking?”

  “Hiding write-offs and losses from shareholders and the financial community to keep stock value high.” Toak was irritated having to explain what was obvious to him. “Section 10b-5 securities fraud. The worst thing is the probable shareholders’ derivative suit up the pike, for breach of fiduciary duty against Higgins. The key element is scienter . . . whether Mr. Higgins knew, or should have known, of any of the alleged bookkeeping fraud.

  “Sounds interesting. But . . .”

  “With Frank gone, you can do some of that stellar work for me.” Toak cut her off with finality. “I want you to fine-tooth-comb my motion for summary judgment. The file and motion are in that box. And for the alternative motion for summary adjudication of issues think creatively, see if something else pops out at you.”

  “But I’m not on the case. Isn’t there s
omeone else who could do it more efficiently?”

  “There is. But what I want here is a fresh pair of eyes, not economic efficiency. I want that brain and research you used with Frank’s goddess case. This is a pivotal motion. If you have any questions, come down.”

  “I appreciate the opportunity.” Her protests were defeated and she was stuck.

  “Next Friday is the filing deadline. So get it back by Wednesday if not before. Put down 1.5 for this conference re: summary judgment.”

  Sophia picked up the box and went back to her office. She had helped with a summary judgment motion at Bode and knew where to start. She emailed the librarian to send up anything she had on summary judgments and summary adjudication of issues

  She decided she would just get this over with and bill the hell out of it. Damn the ethics, and full speed ahead.

  ⌘

  Chapter 49

  Making the World Safe for Super Vacuums and Love

  Mid-morning, Sophia needed a break and was bursting to tell Tricia about her dinner with Taylor, but not the after-dinner activities. Those were for herself and Taylor. She put a twenty-dollar bill in her pocket to take Tricia for a latte and snack. She wandered down to Tricia’s office.

  “Hey, you there?” Sophia gave a rap at Tricia’s door and walked in.

  “Sophia! Anything new on the Frank front?” Tricia looked up from her computer screen.

  “Not really,” Sophia desperately wanted a normal day. “Let’s go get a latte.”

  “Perfect. Cafeteria or outside?”

  “Outside.” Sophia dangled her twenty-dollar bill. “I need to breathe some fresh air.”

  Tricia laughed. “Fresh air? In L. A.?”

  “My mistake. Outside air.”

  * * *

  They slipped out the garage-side exit to get to avoid the press. With the lobby emptied of the vultures, it was easy now.

  At the corner coffee place they got large lattes, but they both ultimately resisted the scones and other pastries. It was almost time for lunch.