“I want to give an official O’Reilly & Finney congratulations to Vernetta and David on the Hayes verdict and a jury award so big even I couldn’t believe it.” O’Reilly looked extremely pleased. Probably because forty percent of that five-million-dollar award would go straight into the coffers of the eighty-attorney litigation boutique founded by his grandfather.
“It just shows you what good, solid legal work can produce. Keep on kicking butt, guys!” He raised his glass and everyone applauded. Except Neddy. Her hands were conveniently occupied. She took a sip of wine and dipped a broccoli spear into a bowl of ranch dip.
A few minutes later, O’Reilly headed my way and pulled me off to the side. “You won’t believe it,” he whispered excitedly. “You heard about Max Montgomery’s murder Saturday night, right?”
Who hadn’t? Max Montgomery was a local icon. Rich, attractive, politically connected, and undeniably brilliant. His investment banking firm owned most of the city’s prime real estate. The murder made the front page of the L.A. Times and every news station in town was milking the story like it was a cow with fifty udders.
“Well, guess who’s a suspect, and guess who wants our firm to defend her?”
I had absolutely no idea who “her” could be.
“His wife!” There was sheer joy in O’Reilly’s voice. “And you, lucky lady, are going to be sitting at the defense table.” He turned his back to me and began scanning the room.
He was right. I couldn’t believe it. This was the kind of case that turned lawyers into celebrities. Although I was wiped out from the round-the-clock hours demanded by the Hayes trial, the prospect of handling a sensational murder case filled my weary body with a tingle of excitement. Then I remembered my promise to Jefferson. He would freak when he found out I’d taken on another, even more demanding case. I downed the last of my Diet Coke and momentarily wiped that worry from my mind. I’d deal with Jefferson later. I was about to be catapulted into super-lawyerdom.
Then I heard O’Reilly call Neddy over and my heart did a flip-flop.
“This is going to be a helluva case,” he said, turning back to face me as Neddy walked up. “You ladies can thank me later.”
“Thank you for what?” Neddy asked.
“For teaming you up on L.A.’s next high-profile murder case.”
Neddy and I locked eyes, but we both chose to exercise our right to remain silent.
O’Reilly, still all smiles, threw his burly left arm across my shoulder and pulled Neddy to him with his right. We were the perfect Jet Picture of the Week.
“Yep,” he said, looking first at Neddy, then shining his gaze on me. “I’d say you two ladies are about to become very, very famous.”
CHAPTER 3
I tried to ignore the knots forming in my stomach as I followed O’Reilly and Neddy out of the conference room and into O’Reilly’s spacious corner office. As soon as he closed the door, his face took on a childlike elation. “L.A.’s long overdue for another big, juicy murder trial and this is it.” He sat down in his cowhide chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He was smiling so hard his cheeks looked like they had been stuffed with grapefruits.
Neddy and I took seats in the matching Queene Anne chairs in front of his desk. We had yet to acknowledge one another.
“The police tried to question Montgomery’s wife last night, but she refused to talk without representation.” He turned to face Neddy. “She called us because she remembered that acquittal you got in the Langley murder case last year. But it was my idea to pair you up with Vernetta.”
O’Reilly was definitely satisfied with himself. I almost expected him to stand up and pat himself on the back.
This kind of case was right up Neddy’s alley. She’d spent fifteen years at the Public Defender’s office before O’Reilly & Finney recruited her four years ago to strengthen the firm’s criminal defense practice. Since joining the firm, she had successfully defended a string of high-profile criminal cases, including two wealthy murder suspects and a string of accountants and bankers accused of securities fraud. My practice area, however, was strictly employment law.
I was the first to speak. “O’Reilly, have you forgotten that I’m not a criminal attorney?” I couldn’t exactly tell him I didn’t want to team up with Neddy just because she walked around acting like the Wicked Bitch of the West.
“Wait a minute,” O’Reilly protested, “didn’t you tell me you’d be open to learning other practice areas when I hired you? Well, now’s your chance.”
I hated having my own words thrown back at me. “You’d actually want me to cut my teeth on a case this big?”
“Why not? You’re an incredible litigator, Vernetta. You just won one of the biggest verdicts this firm has ever had. And without a doubt, Neddy’s sharper than ninety-nine percent of the prosecutors down at the D.A.’s office. You two have ‘Dream Team’ written all over you.”
Neddy’s left eye began to twitch.
“And anyway,” he continued, “Tina Montgomery was elated when I mentioned your name. She’s been following the Hayes trial on TV.”
O’Reilly was leaning forward now, his elbows planted on his desk like a pair of inverted turkey legs. “Think about it? Two smart, attractive African-American women defending a prominent, African-American socialite accused of murdering her wealthy husband. Hell, the defense team’ll get more publicity than the trial.”
So that was it. We would no doubt be the first all-black, female defense team to handle such a high-profile case. That would mean coverage in the mainstream media, the legal press and the black community. And O’Reilly was banking on all that publicity bringing more clients through the door. But teaming up with Neddy would relegate me to second-class citizenship. That definitely wouldn’t work. I had to find an escape clause, and fast.
“So let’s be clear here,” I said, feigning indignation. “Are you assigning us to this case because we’re black or because we’re women…or both?”
“Aw, don’t give me that politically correct bull, Henderson.” O’Reilly swatted away my question with one of his mammoth hands. “You two know me better than that. I’m all about getting whatever mileage I can out of any case that comes through this door. Do you know how many attorneys would kill for a case like this?”
“But I’m not a criminal attorney, O’Reilly.” Of course, that hadn’t been a concern for me when he first mentioned the case. I slowly inhaled and hoped I didn’t sound too whiny.
“Yeah, but Neddy is. And she can teach you all the procedural stuff you need to know inside of two weeks. The real job in trying a case like this is analyzing the evidence. It’s all about how you present the good facts and how you spin the bad ones. You’re a whiz when it comes to the nuts and bolts of a case. And don’t quote me, but after the Hayes verdict, with this case on your resumé, when your name comes up for partnership next year…” He arched his eyebrows and smiled.
Finish the sentence, O’Reilly. But he wasn’t stupid enough to make that kind of binding oral promise with a witness present. I knew he was right. After the Hayes victory and an attention-grabbing murder case like this, win or lose, my fate as far as partnership was concerned would be happily sealed. I’d become the firm’s first African-American partner.
I wondered why Neddy was playing mute. I doubted she wanted to work with me either. But O’Reilly couldn’t dangle the partnership carrot in front of her face. She had negotiated a deal for a permanent of-counsel position and seemed satisfied with that arrangement.
While I was still pondering my predicament, Neddy finally opened her mouth.
“Hold on a minute,” she said. I couldn’t tell from her tone exactly how she felt about O’Reilly’s proposed arrangement. “You only said the police wanted to question Montgomery’s wife. Who says she’s even a suspect?”
O’Reilly smiled. “C’mon Neddy, don’t bullshit me. We both know innocent people don’t go calling lawyers just because the cops want to talk to them.”
&nb
sp; “That’s not necessarily true,” Neddy challenged. “Anybody with any sense knows you don’t talk to the police without a lawyer present. Thank God she was savvy enough to demand one. It doesn’t mean she killed the man. If you ask me, it just means she’s smart.”
O’Reilly frowned. I could tell he was alarmed that his visions of a media feeding frenzy might be vanishing before his eyes.
“I agree,” I said hurriedly. “Maybe she’s just being cautious. There’s no reason for us to assume the police plan to charge her with murder.”
O’Reilly leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. “Well,” he said, with a sly grin, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m sure hoping like hell they do.”
CHAPTER 4
It was close to eight and I was twenty minutes late for a romantic dinner at G. Garvin’s on Third Street with my handsome husband of fourteen months and two days. Not that I was counting my blessings, that is. I would have called to let Jefferson know I was running late, but he routinely turned off his cell phone after seven o’clock. He was an electrician who, unlike me, refused to allow distractions of any kind to interfere with his personal time.
When I approached the table, Jefferson did not give me the look I expected. The one that silently chastised me for devoting more time to my job than to him. Instead, he jumped up and locked me in his arms.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I said, out of breath. “Please don’t be mad.”
“How can I be mad?” he said, pecking me on the lips and pulling out my chair. I was 5’8” and in heels I had almost an inch on him, something that had taken a little time for me to adjust to, but had never been a big deal for Jefferson. “A brother don’t mind waiting for the finest, smartest, baddest attorney in L.A.”
This time I leaned over and kissed him.
“I heard them talking about the trial on KNX on the way over here,” he beamed. “Congratulations, baby.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said.
Jefferson had a thick, muscular, Mike Tyson-like build, and a genuine self-confidence that I found attractive from the first moment we made eye contact while standing in adjacent lines at the Albertson’s supermarket, a block from my old apartment. Tonight he was wearing black linen slacks and a black Lycra shirt. The one he knew I liked because of the way it showed off his pecs.
“I’m just glad that damn trial is finally over.” He smiled seductively. “Now I finally get to spend some time with my woman.” We kissed again, this time for much longer.
“Did you order for me?” I asked.
“Nope, I was beginning to think you might’ve forgotten. You’ve been so wrapped up in that trial. But some appetizers should be here in a minute.” He handed me a menu. “So,” he said smiling, “how much of that five mil are we getting?”
“None of it,” I laughed. I wiggled out of my jacket to reveal a soft gray chiffon blouse underneath my navy blue, good-luck Tahari skirt suit. After tossing my car keys to the valet outside, I’d unbuttoned an extra button on my blouse to reveal what little cleavage I had. Just because I was a successful, determined lawyer by day didn’t mean I couldn’t be a sexy vixen by night.
Jefferson shook his head. “I’ll never figure out how this law firm shit works. It would seem to me that the person who did all the work should at least get part of the damn jury award.”
“Sorry, babe, it don’t work like that. I’ll get the same bonus everybody else gets at the end of the year.” I turned to inspect a delicious-looking spinach salad a waiter was delivering to an adjacent table. “But when I make partner next year, I’ll get a piece of the pie. A pretty nice piece. So, what were they saying about my case on the radio?”
“That the verdict was pretty surprising and that it should be a wake-up call to other companies,” Jefferson said, with real pride in his voice, as if it were his victory, too. “I bet you don’t regret leaving Brandon & Bass now, do you? When they hear about that verdict, they’ll know what a mistake they made not making you a partner.”
The mention of my prior law firm still caused a miserable lump to settle in my throat. I’d worked my butt off at Brandon & Bass, assuming I was on track for partnership. Unfortunately the joke was on me. I left after six years to join O’Reilly & Finney and, so far, hadn’t regretted it one bit. Jefferson was right. Their loss.
A waitress approached our table. “Your appetizers will be right out,” she said to Jefferson. “And here’s your Diet Coke, easy ice, Mrs. Jones.”
I liked it when Jefferson ordered for me, but I was not pleased when people automatically assumed that I’d taken his last name. This time I let it pass.
Jefferson smiled as the waitress walked off. “Mrs. Jones,” he said, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he mulled over the words. “I like the sound of that. You know, it’s not too late to go the more traditional route.”
“Nah,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “Vernetta Jones just doesn’t have the right ring to it. Besides, you just want to keep me barefoot and pregnant.”
“Now that’s a segue if I ever heard one.” Jefferson reached underneath the table and retrieved a package that was about half the width of a videotape, but four times the height. It was wrapped in gold foil, and tied with a long red ribbon. The uneven corners and the lopsided bow told me Jefferson had wrapped it himself.
“You bought me a present?”
“Yep,” he grinned.
When I extended my hand to take it, he playfully pulled it out of my reach.
“Hold on, hold on. You have to hear my speech first.”
Jefferson cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair. He placed the box off to the side and grabbed both of my hands. He had long, thick fingers that could have belonged to a man twice his size. As our palms met and our fingers entwined, I could feel calluses that publicized what he did for a living. Still, his touch was gentle.
“I was going to start by telling you how much I love you, but then I said, ‘nah, she already knows that.’ So I had to come up with something else.” He paused. “Now, I didn’t practice this, so don’t be too hard on me.”
I loved it when Jefferson tried to be romantic. It was not something that came naturally for him. But what he lacked in finesse he made up for in raw sincerity.
“Being married to you has been pretty cool. Cooler than I ever thought it would be. When I was listening to that radio show on the way over here, I kept saying to myself, ‘that’s my woman they’re talkin’ ‘bout.’ Before I met you I didn’t believe in all that soul mate stuff. But now I can definitely say you’re my soul mate. And I love you to death.”
He squeezed my hand and we kissed again.
Before I could ask for my gift, the waitress set a plate of miniature crab cakes on the table, my favorite.
Jefferson stuffed one into his mouth, quickly chewed it, and continued his presentation. “And if the rest of our marriage continues to be half as cool as it’s been so far, then I know we’re going to live happily ever after. Okay, now you can have your present.”
He handed the box to me and I slowly untied the ribbon. I had no idea what was inside. It was too large for jewelry and not big enough for a pair of shoes. Not that I needed more of either.
“Is this a victory present?” I was bubbling with excitement as I tore off the beautiful wrapping paper.
“Nope.” Jefferson was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, looking quite pleased with himself.
“Then what’s the occasion?”
He grinned big. “Let’s just say it’s time.”
I had the box completely unwrapped, but still couldn’t tell what it was. I picked up the tiny table candle and angled it so I could read the writing on the side of the box. When I finally made out the words, my throat constricted. Clear Blue Easy Ovulation Prediction Test Kit.
Jefferson mistook the shocked look on my face as confusion.
“C’mon, girl, how many degrees do you have? You don’t know what tha
t is? It’s an ovulation kit,” he said proudly. “And we might as well get started tonight.”
There was a long silence as I sat there, trying to remember how to breathe.
CHAPTER 5
The day after my husband set his sights on putting my womb to work, I left the office at one o’clock for a meeting with my new client, Tina Montgomery. And if getting there was supposed to be a test, I was about to flunk it.
My frustration level was growing as I circled the winding streets of Brentwood, the L.A. suburb best known as the place where O.J. allegedly murdered Nicole. If I didn’t find the house in the next thirteen minutes, I was going to be late. That would be unacceptable.
I had dreadfully mixed emotions about my new case. There was no question that it would be great for my career. What it would mean for my marriage was another story. Jefferson would be furious when he found out I would be tied up on another, even bigger case. Then there was the Neddy issue. Luckily, I had not asked God for any really big favors lately, so I still held out hope that He was going to answer my prayers and make the case disappear.
The pleasant voice coming from the navigation system of my new Toyota Land Cruiser had just informed me that my destination was ahead on the right. The damn thing must have been broken because for the life of me I couldn’t find the house number I was searching for. Then I had a disturbing thought. Maybe Neddy had given me the wrong address. As evil as she was, I would not put it past her.
“How could anybody locate an address in this neighborhood?” I mumbled to myself. The streets curved and twisted in eight different directions and you needed binoculars to read the house numbers from the street. This was broad daylight. Finding an address in the dark must be next to impossible.
I continued to peer out of the window, straining my neck as I tried to read the numbers painted along the curbs. Neddy and I had talked briefly about our meeting just before lunch. We agreed that there was no strategy to plot until we heard what our new client had to say. Neddy had abruptly rejected my suggestion that we drive together. Said she had an errand to run afterward. A definite lie.
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