Sasha McCandless 03 - Irretrievably Broken (7 page)

Hope you’re feeling better than I am. I was thinking I’d make pho tonight? Love you, LC

Despite their respective Irish surnames, Sasha was half Russian and Connelly was half Vietnamese. Although she hadn’t been able to sell him on borscht, he had gotten her hooked on the Vietnamese beef noodle soup.

Having spent eight years eating at her desk at the office, Sasha was not in the habit of buying groceries or preparing meals. Connelly had tackled that role with enthusiasm. Now he was leaving. Maybe she’d finally have to learn how to cook.

She poured a glass of ice water and drank it greedily. She knew rehydrating would help clear the remnants of her headache. But she wasn’t sure what to do about the lump that rose in her throat every time she thought about Connelly leaving.

Her cell phone vibrated on the countertop. She checked the display, curious about who would call so early. Volmer.

“Hi, Will,” she said, putting her glass in the dishwasher.

“Sasha, I’m sorry to bother you so early.” Will’s voice was grave.

“It’s no problem, but I’m afraid I haven’t come to a decision about taking on Greg’s case yet.”

She’d planned to bounce the idea off Connelly over dinner the night before, but, in light of his news, she hadn’t gotten around to it. Although he wasn’t an attorney, he was one of the most deliberate, analytical people she knew, and she valued his opinion.

Will cleared his throat. “I really hate to pressure you, Sasha—”

“Then don’t.”

He hesitated but picked up where he’d left off, “I must. Mr. Lang’s constitutional rights are at issue here. The longer he goes without counsel, the less time he will have to prepare a robust defense.”

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” she said. She felt irritation clawing at her.

“I know. I’m sorry, Sasha. I’ve been instructed to get an answer now.”

Will sounded genuinely apologetic. She was sure someone higher up in the Prescott food chain was making him press her for an answer, but it didn’t matter. She bristled.

She opened her mouth, intending to tell Will that Prescott & Talbott could find someone else to do its biding.

Instead, she heard herself say, “
If
I am going to represent Mr. Lang, we need to get straight what role the firm will have in that defense. Here’s a hint: it’ll be limited to writing the checks.”

“Of course, of course.” Will’s answer was quick and soothing.

“No offense, Will, but I’d like to hear it from someone with the authority to say it,” Sasha said.

Will sighed then said,“If I get you a meeting with the Management Committee, can you come in today?”

Sasha mentally scrolled through her calendar. “I’m free until lunchtime. The rest of the afternoon is blocked off.”

Blocked off so that she could spend some time processing the fact that Connelly was probably leaving.

“I’ll make it happen,” he promised.

CHAPTER 11

Will stood in the middle of Cinco’s office, trying not to look at the painting of a nude woman’s buttocks that hung over the white leather couch where Cinco sat. The painting, like the rest of Cinco’s office decor, raised eyebrows. It also inspired a long-running rumor among the senior partners that Cinco’s secretary had been the model.

Will doubted there was any truth to it; it was just the sort of salacious gossip that lawyers seized on to relieve the tedium of their workdays. He did have to admit, though, he had never looked at Caroline quite the same after he’d heard the rumor.

He cleared his throat and his mind and waited for Cinco to speak. He assumed Cinco hadn’t offered him a seat as a way to drive home his displeasure. He toed the interlocking square pattern beneath his feet.

Cinco finally spoke. “I’m disappointed, Will. I thought John impressed upon you how important it was for Sasha to take on Greg Lang’s defense.”

“He did, indeed.”

Porter had made it abundantly clear to Will that he had to get Sasha to agree. Will didn’t see how he could be charged with such a task in the first place, given the existence of free will. And, to be honest, as talented as Sasha McCandless was and as much as he personally liked her, she had no criminal defense experience. Without taxing his memory, he could name at least a half-dozen young lawyers, formerly employed by Prescott & Talbott, who would be better suited to handling a homicide trial.

He said none of this to Cinco. Instead, he emphasized the positives.

“She hasn’t said no. She just wants to meet with the Committee and get some assurances that we aren’t going to micromanage her case.”

Cinco rubbed his forehead. “I heard you the first time. But she hasn’t said yes, has she?  We don’t have time for this, Will.”

Will couldn’t quite understand the urgency. When Marco had barreled into his office earlier and told him to lean on Sasha, Will had tried to explain why an ultimatum was the wrong tack to take. But, Marco had been insistent.

Now, Will said, “I understand that. But, I think she’s reacting mainly to the pressure I applied this morning. I told Marco we shouldn’t have tried to force her hand—”

Cinco cut him off. “Don’t fix the blame. Fix the problem.”

Just in time, Will stopped himself from rolling his eyes. The partners often joked that Cinco used a Successories catalogue of motivational posters as his management manual.

“How do you mean?”

“How do I mean? I mean, get the meeting scheduled and get her in here. Now go.”

Cinco dismissed him with a wave of his hand, then he added, “Tell Caroline to come in on your way out.”

Will started to speak and thought the better of it. He snapped his mouth shut and left.

As he sent Caroline in to see her boss, he couldn’t resist a quick peek at her shapely rear, nicely displayed by her snug skirt.

CHAPTER 12

Sasha looked around the table, not quite believing she was sitting in the Carnegie Conference Room with Prescott & Talbott’s five most powerful partners. And Will.

Marco DeAngeles, Fred Jennings, Kevin Marcus, John Porter, and Cinco. Their combined net worth had to have eight digits. Maybe nine. And each of them was usually more than ready to seize control of any conversation. They were assertive. Confident. Decisive.

Except they were none of those things right now. Right now, they were all looking at Will with varying degrees of hope and desperation in their eyes.

Will straightened his tie and swallowed, then he said, “Sasha, thank you for coming in on such short notice. As you know, the firm would like you to represent Mr. Lang, and we’re willing to discuss the contours of that representation with you.”

Jennings nodded along as Will spoke.

Don’t let them intimidate you
.
Be cool.
She thought of what Noah used to tell her: fake it if you have to.

Sasha arched a brow. “As it happens, Mr. Lang would also like me to represent him. And I spoke to him about an hour ago to tell him I would do so, subject to the firm’s agreement not to interfere with our attorney-client relationship. Those are the contours.”

She sat back and watched the heavy hitters defer to Will.

“As a criminal defense attorney myself,” Will began, “I understand your concerns. You rightly don’t want the firm to second-guess your advice or whisper in Mr. Lang’s ear. But you have to understand, too. Two Prescott & Talbott partners have been murdered in the past year. We need to control the fallout from that fact. As a result, the firm has an interest in the outcome of Mr. Lang’s case. We will want to be kept apprised of the case and consulted on strategy.”

He flicked his eyes to Cinco, looking for confirmation that he’d delivered the right message. Cinco gave a little nod.

Sasha stared straight ahead at the painting on the wall. As befit Cinco’s private conference room, it was a nude. There was no question that his secretary had not posed for this one. According to the brass placard hanging beneath it, it was the work of Philip Pearlstein, a native Pittsburgher and noted painter who specialized in nude models posing with unusual objects—in this case, a yoga ball.

She ran through a series of calculations in her head. When she’d spoken to Greg, he’d admitted that Ellen had filed for divorce because of his gambling. He’d also admitted he’d lost his job because he’d taken to stopping in at the casino on his way to work, which inevitably led to him not going to work. So, with no income and Ellen’s estate tied up in the divorce, Greg had told her that, despite his ritzy address, cash flow was a problem.

But Sasha simply wasn’t willing to be at Prescott & Talbott’s beck and call. Greg would have to figure out another way to pay her. She wondered if he had any space on his credit cards. Presumably, Naya could set arrange for her to accept credit cards. To date, all her clients had paid by wire transfer or check—yet another strike against dabbling in criminal law.

She pushed her chair back from the table and stood.

“Your proposal’s not feasible. If Mr. Lang wants me to represent him, we’ll work something out between the two of us. But I won’t have you breathing down my neck and second-guessing me.”

Sasha reached in her purse for the retainer check, prepared to throw it on the gleaming table as part of her dramatic exit. It had been a mistake to even consider taking the case. What she really needed was a clean break from her former firm.

Kevin Marcus leaned forward and said, “Wait. Please reconsider your position. I personally assure you that we won’t interfere wth your work. We will, however, stand ready to give you any support you request in your representation of Greg Lang. I’m sure we can work through this.”

His voice was strained, but he stopped just short of begging.

She remained standing but asked, “Why is this so important to the firm?  And don’t feed me some line about friendship with Greg Lang. I bet half of you couldn’t pick him out of a lineup.”

Kevin looked at Cinco. Cinco looked at Fred.

Fred spread his paw-like hands wide and leaned back in his chair. “Seems to us Ellen was killed and her fella was framed to make the firm look bad.”

“You think someone killed one of your female partners and framed her estranged husband so you’d get bad press?”

“That’s right.”

Had Fred slipped into dementia without anyone noticing?  His conjecture was insane. She looked around the table. Everyone else was nodding, like it was a reasonable theory.

“Assuming that were true, how exactly does it make Prescott look bad?” Sasha asked.

Kevin fixed her with a look. “Come now, Sasha. You know we got very low marks on the Mothers in the Law’s last survey.”

He tilted his head, as if he was wondering whether she had been one of the anonymous female lawyers who had responded to the survey by describing Prescott & Talbott as a place where relationships go to die.

She held his gaze and said, “I was single, not to mention childless, during my time here, Kevin, remember? I didn’t pay any more attention to those surveys than I did to the mandatory retirement age issue. It wasn’t relevant to my life.”

Marco bobbed his head and said, “And that’s why you were so damn good, Mac. No family, no kids. No whining about maternity leave and breast pumps and on-site daycare. None of that bullshit.”

Cinco jumped in and said, “Although work-life balance issues weren’t high on your priority list, Sasha, they are important to the new associates and law students.” He paused and looked hard at Marco, then he said, “And I mean the women
and
the men. They all want to know that they’ll have time to raise their families.”

Sasha shook her head. “Ellen didn’t have kids.”

“Well, that’s true,” Kevin conceded. “But, you know, that survey also made a big point about the divorce rate for our lawyers. It’s hovering at around eighty percent for the partners.”

Sasha thought of Noah, who had died convinced that his wife was going to leave him. As it turned out, he’d been right. Feeling neglected because he was always working, Laura Peterson had been having an affair.

She looked around the table, meeting each of their eyes for several seconds, then she asked, “Do you have any actual support for your belief that Greg is being framed for Ellen’s murder in an effort to sully the firm’s reputation?”

John cleared his throat, but Cinco spoke first, saying, “Of course not. If we had proof, we’d have taken it to the district attorney the instant Greg was charged.”

He sat back and waved both hands, gesturing to the men sitting around the table. “We may not have proof, Sasha, but we have, collectively, over a hundred years of solid legal judgment in this room. And, in our judgment, this is an act against the firm. Ellen and her husband, are——horrific as this may sound—collateral damage. Someone has committed this heinous crime in an effort to, as you say, sully our stellar reputation.”

Sasha tried to ignore her rising nausea. Leave it to Prescott & Talbott to consider itself the true victim.

When Cinco finished his self-serving speech, she said, “Not to be cute, but who do you think would murder one of your partners so your firm ranking plummets? WC&C?”

Fred chuckled and covered it with a cough.

Whitmore, Clay, & Charles—or WC&C—was probably indistinguishable from Prescott & Talbott to the average Pittsburgher. And for good reason. They were both well-established, well-regarded law firms that had served the city since the 1800s. Both employed hundreds of attorneys, most of whom hailed from the very best law schools. Both had filled seats on the federal bench and in boardrooms of publicly traded companies with their former partners. Both charged rates that topped out around a thousand dollars an hour.

But if one were to suggest to an attorney employed by either firm that the two were interchangeable, one had better be prepared to duck. The bad blood between the firms was legendary. And long-lived.

The three attorneys who formed WC&C broke off from Prescott & Talbott in 1892, in the aftermath of the bloody Homestead Strike. The strike, one of the most violent labor-management disputes in the history of the United States, had resulted in a shootout between striking steelworkers and Pinkerton agents, who had been hired to provide security for the steel mill.