Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(9)

“One court reporter”—Mary Crosby began—“who happens to be the daughter of a federal judge, said you streaked the Quad in Tuscaloosa after taking a doctor’s deposition.”

Veronica Smithers, Jason thought, not saying anything.

“You gave both of your clients a Gatorade bath after a mediation,” Gary Debro added, his tone incredulous. “In the opposing counsel’s conference room.” He paused. “With a full cooler of ice.”

Jason again kept his mouth shut, forcing a frown.

“You got into a mud wrestling match at the Rock the South concert in Cullman last summer with a female patron and were escorted by the police off the premises, along with the woman, and charged with disturbing the peace,” Josephine Scales said.

Jason winced.

“Mr. Rich, you have anything to say?” Mr. Brooks asked.

“I . . . uh . . .” He swallowed again and took in a breath. “The Gatorade bath has become a firm tradition after successful results, and I paid for all the cleaning charges. We, uh, probably should limit those celebrations to our office.”

“You think?” Debro asked.

“Yes,” Jason said. “And as far as the whole Quad thing, I was kind of dating Judge Smithers’s daughter at the time.” He shrugged. “With Rock the South, we were in a weather delay, and there were at least a hundred people there playing in the mud. The criminal charge—which was a misdemeanor—was dropped. And I wouldn’t describe what the woman and I were doing as . . . wrestling.”

“What would you have called it?” Scales asked.

Jason shifted his eyes to her. “Making out? Hooking up?”

Scales’s face turned crimson, and she looked down at the table.

“Those are only a few of the more volatile incidents, Mr. Rich, not to mention the fact that you’ve cluttered up the entire state with your tacky billboards,” Brooks said, his tone now one of exasperation.

Jason ground his teeth together. He shot Tony a glance, who shook his head as if to say, Don’t do it. He wants you to lose your temper. Jason took a deep breath and glared at Brooks. He resisted the urge to remind the commission that his billboards had been approved by the board.

Brooks looked down his nose at Jason for a full five seconds before continuing in a softer, compassionless voice. “I knew your father.”

Jason licked his lips and forced himself to breathe. White-hot rage surged through his body and mind.

The chairman frowned and rubbed his chin as if he were in deep thought. “Lucas Rich was a fine lawyer and an even finer man. The epitome of class . . . and professionalism.” He hesitated. “I was sorry to hear of his passing.”

Jason crossed his arms to keep them from shaking. “Thank you,” he managed, then took another deep breath and cut to the chase. “Mr. Chairman . . .” He looked to the others. “Members of the commission . . . I regret my behavior very much, and I’m ready to comply with the recommendations of the general counsel.”

“OK,” Brooks said. He snatched another document and brought it to his face. “Let’s go over Mr. Dixon’s proposal, shall we? Your license to practice law will be reinstated when you meet the following conditions. First, your completion of a ninety-day inpatient rehabilitation stay. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Jason said.

“Of which you have already completed eighty-three days. Right?”

“Yes. I was granted an eight-hour furlough for this hearing, and I’ll be drug tested on my return this afternoon.”

“Good,” Brooks said, squinting up from the page at Jason. “Let’s hope you pass that test,” he said, oozing sarcasm. He returned his eyes to the proposal. “Second, you’ll receive a public reprimand by the commissioners of the Alabama State Bar at one of their next meetings.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will pay a $2,500 fine.”

“Yes.”

“And the last provision requires that, after you finish your rehabilitation, you’ll cooperate with the recommendations of the Alabama Lawyer Assistance Program.”

“That’s correct.”

Brooks leaned back in his chair and rapped his knuckles against the table. “The commission will now discuss the proposal, and Mr. Dixon will notify you of our decision within the hour.” He scowled at Jason as if he were a roach he’d just stepped on. “You can wait outside.”



Forty-five minutes later, Tony took a seat next to Jason in the hallway. Tony let out a long sigh that conveyed his fatigue.

“They didn’t go for it, did they?” Jason asked.

“No . . . actually . . . they did,” Tony said. “The vote was three to one. I’m sure you can bet who voted against you.”

“Brooks.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

Jason gazed up at the ceiling and took in a deep breath. “Thanks, man.”

“No need for thanks. It’s a fair deal. But Jason . . .” Tony stood. “This is it. If you get hauled back in here, you’re done. The commission was adamant that your reprimand will include a zero-tolerance policy for any future findings of inappropriate or unethical conduct.”

As the general counsel began to walk away, Jason called after him. He thought about standing, but his legs felt rubbery and weak. “The bar won’t get any more trouble from me, Tony.” He cringed at the desperation he heard in his own voice. “That’s a promise.”