"Okay."
"Did you ever meet Williams? I mean, before?"
"What do you mean?" Angus frowned. Not deeply, just simply. Puzzled.
"I mean, did you ever meet Richard Williams at the prison?"
"Let me think." Angus cocked his head. "No, not that I remember. Why? Did Barb say I had? How would she know?"
Oh, no. "Well, she wasn't sure. She just said she thought so." Nat hadn't thought he'd deny it, so she had nowhere to go right away. "She said she heard that you were going to be his lawyer at some point.
"Me?" Angus chuckled. "Me, represent a gangbanger like that? I don't think so."
Nat felt her face grow hot. "But you represent other inmates. You do criminal work."
"Not guys like Williams. They're a specialty. I'm not in the pinky-ring set."
Nat didn't get it. He was denying it. Why would he deny it? She sank into the chair opposite him.
"What?" Argus blinked. "Is something the matter? Are you sick?"
Heartsick.
"What's the matter, sweetie?"
"I don't understand." Nat set down the glass, went to her purse, and got the papers. "I have to ask you some questions, and I need you to tell me the truth. Because I love you, and I trust you."
"Okay," Angus said quietly. "Is this a game?"
"No." Nat kept the papers on her lap. "I found these papers at Barb's house. Her husband wrote them. Ron. He says that you met with Williams three times. He made copies of the sign-out logs to prove it."
Angus remained still. His expression didn't change.
"Now do you remember seeing Williams about being his lawyer?"
"No, honestly I don't." Angus held out his hand. "Can I see the papers? There must be a mistake."
"Wait a minute." Nat kept the papers on her lap. "He said that he overheard you and Williams make a deal to get him out for three million dollars. He thinks that you were in the conspiracy with Graf and Machik and Parrat."
Angus's eyes flared an outraged blue. "That's absurd!'
"I know it is, which is why I didn't go to the police. I love you, and I know it's absurd, and I wanted to give you a chance to explain. Because I know you would never do anything like that."
"I didn't. I would never! I can't believe you're accusing me of this."
Me, neither. "I know. I feel terrible, but then why did you meet with Williams? Your signature is in the logs. I have the photocopies right here." Nat heard the desperation in her own tone. Angus's mouth pursed, buried in his dark blond beard.
"Let me see the logs. There must be some mistake."
"Okay." Nat opened the papers and gave him the photocopies of the logs. He rose to take them, reading them over the coffee table. After a minute, he sat back down.
"What are the other papers?" Angus gestured. "In your hand."
No.
"Natalie?"
"Just answer the question. I'm giving you a chance. I love you."
Angus looked down the logs, then looked up again, his features suddenly drawn. His smile had gone. His eyebrows sloped down.
"Tell me. I came to you. I want to know."
Angus took a gulp of champagne, then set the glass down.
Nat waited, breathless. Please have a good explanation.
"Okay, Williams asked me to get him out. I thought about it, but I said no. I would never have done it, you know that."
Nat felt her throat catch. "You met with him three times."
"I guess I did."
"Why did you lie about it, just now?"
"I was embarrassed."
Nat felt a twinge. "So, why did it take you three times to tell Williams you didn't want to represent him?"
Angus's eyes flashed. "You're accusing me. You really are."
"Just level with me. We've talked all about this, and you never mentioned to me that you considered representing Williams. Why?"
Angus met her eye over the champagne, forgotten now.
Nat waited.
"This is over, Nat. Let it lie."
No. "No. You couldn't have been involved in a conspiracy like that, Angus. We figured it out together."
"We did. We love each other."
"I remember talking in the car, about what happened in that security office. You said it was Graf who executed Upchurch." Then Nat realized. He had kept her off the track. Deflected the focus away from Saunders. "You even said they had videotapes from the day of the riot." Then it dawned on her, too. "You sent me on a wild goose chase, didn't you?"
"Nat, no—"
"And in addition to everything else, you put me in danger when you took me to the prison that morning, to your class!"
Angus paused a minute. "I do love you, you know."
"Tell me you were not involved in this conspiracy." Please, say it.
"I didn't know Buford and his pal would be in my class. I would never let you get hurt. Never" Angus locked eyes with her over the table. "I love you. You know that."
Nat's mouth went dry. "But you knew there would be a riot?"
"I thought it would be contained, in RHU. It was supposed to be."
Nat couldn't believe her ears. "It was a diversion from the murder of Ron Saunders."
"It was never supposed to get that far. They let it get that far, and they had to do it. It wasn't my idea. I didn't want to know anything about it."
Nat felt her mouth drop open.
Angus closed his eyes, still sitting there.
"Angus." Nat felt her own heartbeat. The apartment was so quiet that she swore she could hear bubbles popping in the champagne. "You did not take money to get Williams out of jail. That would be illegal."
Angus opened his eyes. "It would be illegal, but it wouldn't be unjust."
Nat couldn't speak. She felt as if she had entered some alternate universe. Her world had gone topsy-turvy again. She loved this man, and he had lost his mind.
"You remember when we talked about the difference between law and justice, the day we met?" Angus asked, his tone calm. "This is a perfect example. When Williams first asked me, I thought, of course not. But he kept throwing these numbers at me, and I thought, I could do so much good with that money." Angus's eyes glittered in the soft lamplight. "I could fund programs, hire expert witnesses, help people. Those experts I just hired in the case against the city? They cost twenty-five grand. Where else would I have gotten that money? I helped the very people that Williams hurt. With his money. It's reparations."
Nat felt herself go numb.
"I've almost spent a hundred grand of it, this year. We bought fifteen experts in an array of civil cases. Taken days of depositions. Hired a first-rate co-counsel. Staged the level of litigation that only big firms can. I've gone to war for my clients and I've won cases with that money. That's justice. Even if it's not law."
"Ron Saunders died, and Upchurch, too," Nat whispered, barely finding her voice.
"I didn't expect that. I didn't know that. I thought Williams would get away and they'd pick him up again in a few months. They always do. A scumbag like that, he's always in trouble. In fact, I considered diming on him myself."
"But he kills people. Kids. They die in crossfire. Men like him destroy communities."
"He was the means to an end, and the end was worth it to me."
Nat felt tears come to her eyes. "But this can't be true. They tried to kill us with that pickup that night. Parrat crashed into us."
"I know, and I was totally pissed. They wanted me out. They didn't need me anymore. I only brokered the deal." Angus took a step toward her. "See, I wasn't really in it, Natalie. They wanted me to kill you, but I didn't. I couldn't. I fell in love with you. It's real."
Nat's heart stopped. "Kill me?"
"That night in Delaware, in the motel. They told me to kill you, but I didn't. I wasn't going to kill you. I was going to get you out of town."
Oh my God. Nat thought back to that night. The night she ran out on him. He'd found her to kill her. Would he have done it? Was he telling the truth?
"You believe me, don't you?"
I think you're crazy. And I'm crazy for falling in love with you.
"Don't look at me like that. I wasn't in deep, like they were. I just acted as a go-between between the two parties, like any lawyer."
"Like any lawyer? You took money to break the law. To release a dangerous man into the world. You looked the other way when they killed Ron Saunders and Simon Upchurch. You—"
"Let me see the papers," Angus said impatiently, reaching out his hand.
"No."
"Natalie, give me the papers." I can t.
"What do they say? What proof did he have? He couldn't have proof. There wasn't any proof. I was careful."
"Angus, please." Nat felt a tear spill down her cheek. "Take it back. Take it all back. There's still time."
"Give me the papers!" Angus grabbed the papers from her, then looked up. "These are blank!" A sheaf of empty pages fluttered uselessly to the rug. "What's going on here?"
Suddenly the apartment door burst open and four troopers exploded into the living room, their guns drawn. "Hands up!" they yelled. "Get your hands up now!" Troopers filled the hallway.
"What?" An astonished Angus put his hands in the air.
Nat stood by, wet-eyed and stricken. Saunders had been right. It had all been true, but it hadn't been enough to convict. She'd known it, and so had Mundy and the D.A. So they'd hooked her up with a wire, which she wore underneath her T-shirt. She had gotten Angus to confess, and his own words would send him to prison for years and years.
The very notion made her want to curl up and die.
Chapter 50
“Sorry, I'm late!" Nat called out, letting the door slam closed behind her and walking into her parents' elegant entrance hall. It still seemed empty without Jelly to greet her, but this wasn't a day to think about bad things.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NAT!" Paul called out from the kitchen. When she reached him, he slapped her a high five, with a resounding whack!
"Thank you, bro! What'd you get me for my big day?"
"A KITTEN."
Nat's heart jumped up. "For real?"
"NO, LOSER." Paul burst into laughter, and Nat gave him a shove. "HEY, WATCH IT! I'M A HEART PATIENT!"
The scene was the usual Sunday afternoon craziness. The July sun streamed through the windows, flooding the kitchen with lemony light, and her family, in pastel golf clothes, shifted around the room like suburban shadows. Her mother chopped cantaloupe into chunks to make her trademark melon and prosciutto, her father poured himself a Heineken, and Tom and Junior arm-wrestled at the granite island next to two tall Pilsners of beer.
"Tom's gonna win," Nat said, tickling Junior in his side.
"Hey, yo, no fair!" Junior stayed in the fight, and Nat caught the Pilsner glass before it spilled.
"Happy Birthday, honey!" her mother called out, coming over with the paring knife and giving her a brief squeeze, followed by Big John Greco, who gave her a bear hug. He was still damp under his white polo shirt from that afternoons game.
"Happy Birthday, kid," he said, raising his glass with a grin.
"Thanks, Dad. You win?"
"NO, I DID!" Paul interjected, coming over. "BY TWO STROKES! THE KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE KING!"
"You got lucky," Nat and her father said at the same time.
Her father said, "Great minds."
Nat smiled. "Exactly."
"Hank said to tell you 'Happy Birthday.' I saw him last week."
No regrets. "Say hi for me, too, would you?"
"Gotcha!" Junior shouted behind them, winning the arm-wrestling match.
"YOU GOT LUCKY!" they all said, then laughed.
"Happy Birthday to you, too, sis," Junior said, grinning crookedly, and Tom came over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Thanks for the assist, professor."
"No sweat." Nat smiled. "By the way, I have some good news—"
"DAD, YOU SCREWED THE POOCH IN THE SECOND HOLE. IT WAS ALL DOWNHILL FROM THERE."
Tom shook his head. "That's not where he went wrong, you idiot. It was on the fifth, the second shot. I told him. The ball always takes a funny roll on the fairway there."
Junior snorted. "Wrong again. It was the sixth. I told him, go with the eight iron, but he went with the nine. I made twenty-five bucks and let him off easy. Easy"
"Shut up, everybody. You're all wrong." Her father raised his hand, and the boys fell silent.
Nat waited for Big John to pass judgment. The wrong iron. The wrong hole. The wrong whatever.
Her father said, "I think your sister was trying to say something. All of you boys shut up and let her talk."
Whoa. Nat blinked. For a minute, she forgot what she was going to say.
"SO TALK ALREADY!"
"Paul," her father warned, frowning, and her mother looked up.
Nat knew that look. Don't yell at Paul, dear.
But her mother said, "What's your news, honey?"
Nat looked from her mother to her father, and back again. Who were these people?
"Nat?" her father asked.
Nat eyed him with suspicion, but from all outward appearances, her father was listening. Eyes alert, face turned toward her, lips parted expectantly. She had seen people listening on TV, so she knew what it looked like. Even her mother had her head cocked, and held the knife poised over the melon. In fact, they were all listening. To her.
Nat answered, "My book about the Underground Railroad is going to be published. I submitted the outline and three chapters, and they made me an offer."
"That's terrific, kid!" her father said, giving her another big hug, and her mother came over for another one, too, this time without the knife.
"An author in the family!" she said. "I'm so proud!"
"Way to go, sis!" Junior said.
"Congratulations, Nat!" Tom called out, but the last word belonged to Paul.
"GREAT. NOW ON THE SECOND HOLE ..."
Author's Note and Acknowledgments
I'm big on research, but this time I went to extremes. Whether it was because of my newly empty nest or a wish for a different intellectual challenge (yeah, right), I've begun teaching at the University of Pennsylvania Law School. That's right, Nat Greco's school employs me as an adjunct professor (read, Faculty Comic Relief), and her huge lecture hall is my own. My course isn't The History of Justice, but a course I developed called Justice and Fiction, which traces images of law and justice in books, movies, and TV. As a result, I know exactly what it feels like to stand before a class of students who are way smarter than me. (Surprisingly fun.) I hope that Daddy's Girl benefits from my walking in Nat's pumps and experiencing firsthand just how wonderful, and how difficult, it is to be a teacher. I am never more bone tired than after I teach, and it's given me renewed respect for every teacher I've ever had—and furthermore, every teacher on the planet. So my deepest thanks here go to teachers, for their sacrifice, commitment, and love. I'm glad to make a teacher my heroine, because they are heroes every day. This book is dedicated to them.
I also want to make clear where reality ends and fiction begins, so here comes the disclaimer. The University of Pennsylvania Law School is real, but all of the law school faculty, staff, administration, and students in this novel are completely fictional. The real law school dean, Dean Michael Fitts, is a brilliant legal scholar who has a genuine warmth and enthusiasm for the school, its faculty and staff, and the students. Dean Fitts redefines the modern law school dean, and the faculty and administration exemplify legal education in the United States. The real vice dean is my friend Jo-Anne Verrier, whom I hope forgives the bad press her job gets here. The administration and faculty have been nothing but kind to me, and no reader should mistake any of the fictional characters in Daddy's Girl for anyone at Penn Law. And as an alumna, I know it's the best law school in the country.
Equally important, the students in Daddy's Girl, while adorable, aren't the students in my class. Frankly, my kids rock. They're inter
ested in learning and participate in class all the time, which has nothing to do with me and everything to do with their innate intellectual curiosity and the articulate expression of their own ideas. I did teach them The Merchant of Venice, for the reason Nat does, and they got the point instantly. Apologies and thanks to my students. You know I love you guys.
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