51

YOU WANTED TO TALK TO ME ABOUT SOMETHING CONFIDENTIAL BEFORE Monday’s ExComm meeting?” Tom Concannon leaned his elbows on his antique mahogany desk and steepled his fingers. “What’s up?”

“It’s about Allie Whitman and Devil to Pay,” Connor replied.

Tom frowned. “I was afraid you were going to say that. There’s nothing to talk about. We’re withdrawing.”

“I know that’s the plan. You convinced me it’s the right one too. But there have been some new developments.” He related Allie’s plan to go back into Deep Seven. “So I’m wondering if maybe we should reconsider.”

Tom shook his head vigorously. “No. Absolutely not. Think about how bad that would be for us, Connor.” He started ticking off points on his fingers, which he usually only did when talking to mentally challenged junior associates or paralegals. “One, we’re litigating against Deep Seven. Two, she’s talking about snooping around in their files. Three, you’re talking about representing her while she does it. Don’t you realize how incredibly stupid that would be? How many rules we’d break if we sent our client—who, by the way, we’ve already admitted we can’t ethically represent—on an end run around their lawyers to do some freelance discovery? We’d be lucky to keep our bar licenses.”

“But she wouldn’t be doing freelance discovery. She’d be looking into something completely separate from Deep Seven’s case against us, and—”

“You really think Judge Bovarnick would believe that? She would crucify you, Connor. And she’d crucify every member of this firm right beside you. Our next partnership meeting would look like the last scene from Spartacus. And you know what? We’d deserve it.”

Connor nodded. “I understand where you’re coming from, Tom. I really do. Protecting the firm is important to me too, but it’s not the only thing that’s important. We’ve got a client who’s trying to do something that—in my very strong opinion—needs doing. Do I completely trust her? No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t at least look at ways we can help her.”

“Just because something needs doing doesn’t mean we have to put our necks on the line to make sure it gets done. I appreciate your moral stance. You’re the conscience of the firm in some ways. But we have to pick our fights. We have to practice the art of the possible. This just isn’t possible, Connor.” He paused and smiled paternally. “Now go and find something that needs doing and won’t give ExComm or our malpractice insurer heartburn.”

“That sounds like something my father would say.”

Tom nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks, I’ve always admired the Senator.”

Connor sat at a table by the window of his church’s cafe, taking in the view of the parking structure. He drummed the fingers of his left hand spasmodically on the window sill until a woman at the next table glanced over to see what was making the noise. He stretched his face into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I should have quit after the second espresso.”

He dropped his hand beneath the table and turned back to the window, his chin cupped in his right hand. His left hand curled into a fist in his lap. He didn’t like the idea of walking away from Allie when she needed to be helped. And he really didn’t like the idea of walking away from Deep Seven when they needed to be hurt.

On the other hand, if he didn’t walk away from them, he’d be in for a world of hurt himself. He’d be forced out of the firm as soon as ExComm could arrange a meeting. After that, things could get really ugly. He couldn’t ethically keep representing her now that he knew the lawsuit was a fraud. And Tom was right about how Judge Bovarnick would react if Deep Seven caught Allie. The judge would refer him to the state bar, and he’d probably get disciplined. Maybe even disbarred. There would probably even be some sneering press coverage—his father’s old political enemies would see to that.

Then it would be over and his legal career would be history. He’d have to pick up the pieces and find something else to do with his life. He had a vision of himself as a parasite living off the Lamont-Norman family fortune and telling half-lies at cocktail parties: “I’m a philanthropist” or “I’m a writer” or “I do charity work.” The sorts of things rich failures say. His stomach churned.

Julian Clayton walked through the cafe door and looked around. He spotted Connor and walked over. “Sorry I’m late. Pastor Dan wanted to talk about the Guatemala mission trip. Want me to get you anything?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Five minutes later, Julian sat across from him, stirring too much sugar into his coffee. “So, what are we going to do with our mutual client?” Even though there was no reason to believe that anyone was eavesdropping, he avoided using names in public—a habit common to both lawyers and detectives.

“Good question. I can’t keep representing her and I can’t stop representing her. So I’m pretty much stuck. How about you?”

He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m taking your advice. I’m going to call her tomorrow morning and tell her I’m going to the police. If she wants me to wait so she can go back into that other company, I’m going to tell her I want a videotaped statement now.”

“Good idea. Give her the chance to do the right thing, but don’t trust her.”

Julian tore open yet another sugar packet and emptied it into his cup. “You can’t do the same thing? Kick the can down the road far enough to give her some time to do whatever she’s going to do?”

“Nope. That’s what’s bugging me. I can’t stay in a case where I’ve got an ethical duty to withdraw, and I can’t withdraw without announcing that she’s connected to Devil to Pay.”

“Why not?”

“Because the judge has told me that I have to talk to an officer of the company before I can withdraw, and she’s the only officer.”

“Can’t you just make someone else an officer?”

Connor shook his head. “No one knows about Devil to Pay except her, me, and a few lawyers at my firm and the Department of Justice.” Julian opened his mouth, but Connor quickly added, “And no, I can’t make myself an officer.”

“Oh, well never mind then.” He tipped back his coffee cup and shrugged, his hairless forehead wrinkled in sympathetic confusion. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

An idea kindled in Connor’s brain and he grinned. “Dangerous words, my friend.”