While Justice Sleeps(25)
“I can handle Avery Keene. We’ll find a loophole.”
“I want a vacant seat by recess, Will.” The president looked through the glass again. “Did you know that Eisenhower put William Brennan on the Supreme Court through a recess appointment?”
Because they’d had this conversation a dozen times in the last three weeks, Vance did know, but he answered, “Sir?”
“Eisenhower waited until Congress scattered back to their homes and put Brennan right on the Court.” The president watched as armed men changed shifts beyond the Oval Office. They each had only one mission, one objective. Protect him, and by doing so, protect the country. “With Justice Wynn off the bench, I can make history. History. And none of the damned Democrats on Capitol Hill will be able to stop me. Not with a split vote and an empty chair. Empty until I fill it. But the chair needs to be empty first. Make that happen, Will. Then this whole mess is behind us.”
“I understand, sir.”
NINE
What did Justice Wynn trick me into signing? Avery stared at the neat tower of files on her desk, contemplating the myriad possibilities. Realizing the answer was probably in his office, she quickly jumped up and peeked outside her door, but no one waited. Matt was likely in another justice’s chambers, trying to get hired on for next year. Justice Wynn’s overwrought secretaries had been sent home for the day, which left her free to look around.
Quietly, she unlocked Justice Wynn’s office, pushed the heavy door shut behind her, and turned the latch. Papers stood in careful stacks, and legal tomes lined the walls and tables. Although Justice Wynn was computer literate, he preferred the touch and utility of bound volumes to the efficient speed of Westlaw or Lexis. Avery methodically checked each of the files, hunting for one that she might have signed. Most of the documents were categorized by topic, including requests for certiorari, opinions to be read, and items that had caught his eye. None included a form with her handwriting.
Frustrated, Avery crossed to his desk and sat gingerly in the leather swivel chair, which had taken the shape of its owner. Unlike the tables, the desktop was clear except for a jar of pens, a stack of legal pads, and his computer. With one hand, she jabbed the power button on the computer. While it booted up, she reached for the closest pull. The drawer didn’t move.
“Come on,” she muttered as she yanked again, harder, to no avail.
“Of course he locked it.” Thinking of her own government desk, Avery reached into the center console where Post-it notes and other office debris collected. Beneath a slab of pink messages, she found a letter opener. Lifting the slim silver piece, she ran her thumb over the surface and pushed back to study the lock. Basic bolt style, she realized, as she inserted the tip and maneuvered the letter opener. The metal rod slid, and she yanked on the drawer, which opened beneath her tug.
Files lined in dark green folders had been tabbed by content. Most tabs corresponded to an appeal the Court had agreed to hear that term. In her first year as Justice Wynn’s clerk, it had been her responsibility to organize the files, from request for certiorari to amicus briefs and attendant research. Brewer had done the honors this year. When Matt had complained, Justice Wynn had dismissed the work as beneath the dignity of his secretaries.
Smiling slightly, Avery riffled through and read the names in a whisper: “Arnoste. Cavanaugh. DeLeCroix. Evans Wholesale. Frontage Street Development.” The files continued to the drawer below. She closed the top drawer and opened the bottom. “Fulton, et al. GenWorks.”
Her hand froze. The GenWorks folder, which should have held volumes, sat empty. Nothing inside except the tab that indicated its former contents. Eleven files with GenWorks on the hanging tab, all empty. She’d been assigned to GenWorks, an assignment she’d regretted when Justice Wynn had gone beyond his usual meticulous detail into obsessive data gathering. She had been required to write several memos analyzing case law and chasing down information about executive privilege and presidential overreach.
Hundreds of pages of work product, and none of it was in the desk. After the empty GenWorks folder, the next tab read Human Resources. Pulling the file out, she found two slim folders, one with Brewer, Matthew in neat type, the second with Keene, Avery. She glanced up at the door, then opened her file first. Inside, she found her application for the clerkship, law school transcripts, letters of recommendation, and a note scrawled on top in Justice Wynn’s handwriting. Adequate. She shuffled the pages again in search of the document she’d signed, to no avail. Whatever she’d agreed to, it wasn’t in his office.
Avery started to close the file, then decided to peek inside Matt’s compendium. She snorted when she saw that the note attached to his application read Bearable.
Stymied, Avery shoved the drawer closed and jerked open the third compartment, which sat on her right. International Coastal Alliance, a water wars case, began the files. A quick review showed the rest of the folders filled to capacity. All except the empty GenWorks drawer.
“Where’s all our research, Justice Wynn?” She began to search the office, methodically quartering the room, knowing it was futile. Unlike some lawyers, Justice Wynn despised clutter. No leftover documents or unread journal articles rested on tables beyond the unfiled information on active cases. As she thumbed through, she couldn’t find any of her work or Matt’s on the case. The office was nearly as empty as it had been when he’d inherited the space decades ago. Wherever the GenWorks file had gone, the answer was not there.