~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She holed up all weekend, dodging her parents and brothers. She talked briefly to Naya, who told her Laura had made it through Noah’s funeral ceremony. Afterward, she had been voluntarily admitted to Western Psych for psychiatric evaluation. Prescott & Talbott’s backroom deal makers were working overtime to make sure she wasn’t prosecuted.
On Sunday, Daniel called to report that, after he taught his last Krav Maga class on Friday, he’d returned to her building around noon and positioned himself in her bushes. About twenty minutes later, he’d seen a skinny, long-haired white male lurking around the playground across the street. Daniel had called 911 and then watched the guy until the police arrived. The guy gave up Vivian without a second thought. She’d paid him two hundred dollars to jump Sasha and get some files.
Sasha relayed this information to Connelly for the federal investigation. He passed it along to Pulaski, because, as he reminded her, he was on vacation.
Connelly stopped by each day to make sure she was eating. He didn’t stay long.
On Monday, she woke up early, before six, and felt like going for a run. So she ran. She ran farther than she’d intended because the cold air filling her lungs felt like a promise. But after the run, she returned to her condo and ignored the calls that came from the office.
On Tuesday morning, she ran again. She found herself standing outside the Krav Maga studio. After sparring with Daniel, she showered and went to a matinee that was playing at the Squirrel Hill Theater. She didn’t pay much attention to the romantic comedy, but she enjoyed sitting in a dark, quiet public space alone without fear.
Finally, on Wednesday, after her run and her class, she was ready. She walked through Prescott & Talbott’s main lobby with her shoulders back and her eyes forward. She didn’t stop until she reached Lettie’s desk.
Lettie hurried around to the front of her work station and hugged Sasha tight, like a mother would. Then her gray eyes grew serious.
“They said if you came in at any point to send you up to see Mr. Prescott right away.”
“Okay,” Sasha said. What else was there to say?
She took the stairs to Cinco’s office. Caroline was waiting for her when she arrived.
“Ms. McCandless, would you like a cup of coffee? Mr. Prescott will be ready for you in one minute.”
“Coffee would be great,” Sasha said. She wasn’t nervous or excited. She wasn’t anything. She sat on Caroline’s striped silk couch and drank coffee from a gilt-edged porcelain teacup. She listened to the quiet classical music that played as Caroline worked.
“Is this Vivaldi?” she asked.
“It is.” Caroline looked at Sasha closely. Sasha tried to smile. She didn’t know if she succeeded.
Cinco’s door opened and he stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Sasha. Come in.”
She put down the teacup, shook his outstretched hand, and followed him into his orange office. He tried to usher her toward the white captain chairs, but she wanted to sit where her feet could reach the ground. She ignored him and sat on the low white couch under his naked woman painting.
He raised his eyebrows but joined her on the couch.
To his credit, Cinco skipped the small talk and got right to business. The firm appreciated what Sasha had done, of course. They were willing to overlook some small lapses in judgment and breaches of protocol and procedure that may have occurred along the way. Hemisphere Air was very pleased, certainly. As a result, the firm had decided to take the unprecedented step of moving her partnership vote up from April. In fact, they had voted on Monday, but no one had been able to reach her.
Cinco stood up and walked over to the door. Caroline appeared with two champagne flutes on a silver tray.
Cinco came back and held out one of the flutes to Sasha. “Welcome to the partnership, Ms. McCandless.”
She stared at the bubbles fizzing up in the glass for what seemed like a long time. She thought about how long and hard she’d worked. She thought about Noah and Laura. She thought about Connelly, taking a vacation. She thought about Mickey Collins, following his conscience without having to worry what a committee or subcommittee thought. She thought about stopping by the Animal Rescue League and getting a puppy. Or maybe she would start small and get a houseplant.
Finally, she looked up at Cinco. “I’m so sorry, but, no thank you. I’m not interested.”
She left him standing there with a glass of champagne in each hand.
The next day, she went back to the office to clean out her desk. Lettie knocked softly on her door and then came in with a package addressed to Sasha. It had no return address.
Inside was a light pink linen card with a note written in careful, elegant handwriting:
Sasha,
I think Noah would have liked for you to have this. I am going to spend a year in France. I think he would have liked that, too.
Laura
Sasha turned the small package over and held out her palm. A crystal globe with a ruby airplane hovering over North America dropped into her hand.
It was almost five o’clock before she had packed up the last box. The Committee on Departures had provided her with an exit memorandum that detailed which work-related materials she could retain for her personal files. She made a few copies, mainly briefs that reminded her of good courtroom fights she’d won or deposition transcripts that included on- the-record exchanges that had become legend over the years. Like the one where Kevin Marcus said “let the record reflect that the middle digit of plaintiff’s counsel’s right hand is extended stiffly in the air in a widely understood gesture.” She couldn’t just relegate a gem like that to off-site storage.
In addition to the files, she’d accumulated more personal belongings in eight years than she’d thought. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get her clothes, diplomas, framed pictures, and assorted office clutter to her car.
Naya appeared in the doorway.
“What are you going to do, Mac?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe make two trips?” Sasha said, surveying the pile of boxes.
“For work, Sasha. What are you going to do for a job?”
“Oh, yeah, I don’t know that either.”
“Are you going to stay in touch?” Naya gave her a fierce look.
Sasha came around the desk. “You’re one of the only people here I consider a real friend, Naya. You’re not going to shake me that easily. You’ll be calling me Carl, Jr.”
Naya laughed and leaned in for a hug. She squeezed Sasha tight.
“Speaking of Carl, I thought you might need a hand getting your crap out to your car.”
She leaned out into the hallway and shouted, “Carl!”
And sure enough, Carl strolled into sight, pushing a hand cart from the mailroom.
“Hi ya, Sasha,” he said, as he helped her and Naya pile the cart high with bankers’ boxes.
He asked her for her car keys and wheeled the boxes out to the garage. Sasha and Naya sat on a stone bench in front of the building and waited for him to bring the car down.
“He’s a good man,” Sasha told Naya.
“I know he is,” Naya said.
“Are you ever going to give in and fall in love with him?”
“Probably someday,” Naya admitted. Then she threw her head back and laughed.
She stopped mid-laugh. “Uh-oh.”
Sasha followed her gaze.
The Honorable Cliff Cook was headed their way. The judge took long, purposeful strides.
“Okay, well, you take care now, Mac.” Naya stood to make her escape.
Sasha reached for Naya’s elbow and tried to pull her back down to the bench, but Naya shook her off and scurried away.
Like the proverbial rat, Sasha thought. She guessed that made her the sinking ship.
“Ms. McCandless,” Judge Cook said as he stopped right in front of her, “I am told by the Prescott & Talbott receptionist that as of today you have left
the firm’s employ.”
Sasha popped to her feet.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And what greener pasture are you off to? In-house counsel at Hemisphere Air?”
Sasha stared at the judge. Metz, who had taken over Vivian’s position had called and offered her his old job, not once but twice. She thanked him gently and sincerely, but told him she wasn’t interested.
Metz had understood.
But, it appeared Pittsburgh’s legal gossip mill hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Actually, no, Your Honor.”
“Oh? Then where are you going?”
Sasha opened her mouth to say, “I’m not sure. I’m going to take some time.” Instead, the words “I’m opening my own office” came, unbidden, out of her mouth.
Judge Cook cocked his head. “Is that so? Well, good for you. I’m sure you’ll do quite well for yourself. You’re a very persuasive legal writer.”
Sasha wrinkled her brow. “I don’t believe I’ve filed any papers with you, Your Honor.”
The judge looked at her. “Ms. McCandless, do you have any idea how many pleadings and briefs written by Prescott & Talbott attorneys I’ve read during my years on the bench?”
Sasha threw out a guess, “Dozens? Maybe hundreds?”
“Hundreds—perhaps thousands, given your former firm’s penchant for motions practice. And each lawyer has his or her own style, to be sure. But, I can tell within the first paragraph when I am reading papers that were written by a Prescott-trained lawyer. The firm’s DNA, if you will, is distinctive.”
“Really?” Sasha managed.
“Really.” Judge Cook leaned in close. “And Mickey Collins, for all his talents, does not have Prescott & Talbott DNA.”
He looked at Sasha for a minute. She thought he might smile, but he didn’t.
“Good luck to you in your future endeavors, Ms. McCandless.”
Judge Cook nodded a goodbye, then he turned and walked back the way he’d come.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When Sasha pulled into her parking lot it was already dark, so she left the boxes in her car and hurried inside.
When she reached the door to her condo, she heard music coming from inside.
With her heart in her throat, she silently turned the knob. The door was unlocked. She took a deep breath, and then she exploded through the doorway, ready to react if someone was waiting on the other side of the door to attack her.
There was no attacker on the other side.
But Connelly was in her kitchen. Boxes, jars, and bags littered her recycled glass countertops. Pots bubbled on her gleaming cooktop. Wine was breathing. Connelly was stirring something and singing along to music. Classic rock, from before she was born.
He looked up and smiled a lopsided smile.
“I thought you were on vacation,” Sasha said, her heart returning to normal as the adrenaline drained from her body.
“I am,” he told her.
That night, he slept in her bed for the second time. He did not curl up on the bottom like a dog.
NOTE TO THE READER
Thank you for reading Irreparable Harm! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you want to pick up the rest of the books in this series, you can find them here: The Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Series. You can find Critical Vulnerability, the first book in my Aroostine Higgins spin-off series here.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melissa F. Miller is a USA TODAY bestselling author and commercial litigator. She has practiced in the offices of international law firms in Pittsburgh, PA and Washington, D.C. She and her husband now practice law together in their two-person firm in South Central Pennsylvania, where they live with their three young children. When not in court or on the playground, Melissa writes crime fiction. Like Sasha McCandless, she drinks entirely too much coffee; unlike Sasha, she cannot kill you with her bare hands.
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