Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(3)

Mr. Knight offered a rebuttal argument but I hardly heard it. Judging by the looks on the juror’s faces, they weren’t buying it either. Judge Fitzpatrick gave them their instructions for deliberations, and the court was adjourned until they reached a verdict.

I couldn’t avoid Reginald Munro’s triumphant hug and was just thankful the jury had already filed out and didn’t see it. He hoisted me up; apparently his back had made a miraculous recovery since last Friday when my expert witness testified Munro might suffer pain for the rest of his life.

“You’re an angel of justice!” Munro crowed.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said, fighting the urge to slap the sexist bastard. The press was still here, snapping pictures and talking into their recorders.

“I have to tell you, when Jon Lawson assigned you for my case, I had my doubts. I’d heard you were a prodigy, but hearing and seeing are two different things. And I’ve seen it all. You’re the real deal, sweetheart.”

Condescending ‘sweetheart’ aside, the compliment thrilled me.

“Thank you, Mr. Munro. That is kind of you to say.”

“Come on. Let me take you to lunch and we can discuss how Lawson & Dooney might be a good fit to handle the legal affairs of the entire Munro family.”

He said ‘family’ but he may as well have said ‘empire.’ The Munro family was akin to the Waltons of Wal-Mart fame, but with a thriving hotel and luxury resort chain instead of superstores. For L&D to handle all of their legal needs was like winning a Powerball lottery.

I saw Don Knight watching us and kept my face neutral. “I’d love to, Mr. Munro, but I have a prior lunch appointment I can’t skip. And besides, it’s not over yet. The jury needs to come back for us—”

He snorted a loud laugh. “So modest. All right, I’ll dine alone today, but when they come back with a verdict, I expect dinner with you, Jon, and even that stiff-necked Dooney, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“I’ll call you when I get word of a verdict,” I told him and eased a sigh of relief as he and his mountain of a bodyguard/driver left the courtroom.

Don Knight fell in step next to me as I left the courtroom. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I? ‘Make your rich client richer.’ I planted that seed and watched you turn it into a bumper crop.”

I smiled thinly. “You’re mixing metaphors. I’m a farmer now? I thought I was the shark smelling blood.”

“Acting as if my clients’ guilt was a foregone conclusion was an especially nice touch.”

“I thought so.”

We reached the courtroom door and Knight’s expression softened. “I admire you, Ms. Gardener, I really do. But I feel sorry for you more. Someday, I’m afraid you’ll see why.”





Chapter Two


Alex



I tapped my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, silently commanding the red light to change. My engagement ring captured the afternoon sunlight and sprayed it over the dash. I smiled, feeling some of the tension leave my face, but only for a moment. Don Knight’s words resounded in my head like bats in a cave, and I couldn’t sweep them out.

He had ruined my triumph. I had just nailed the most important case of my career—so far—and was fulfilling the legacy of my father, one of the greatest trial lawyers in Los Angeles, before he retired five years ago. Now I suddenly felt like the Princess and the Pea, lying high on a stack of the richest mattresses and still feeling a tiny little prick of a discomfort.

At twelve-thirty—fifteen minutes behind schedule—I guided my Mini onto Santa Monica Boulevard and screeched into the Belvedere’s parking lot. I briefly checked my reflection in the rearview; a stray strand of red hair had come loose.

Knight was just bitter that he’d lost, I reasoned. If I hadn’t had a strong case in the eyes of the law, we wouldn’t have gone to trial in the first place. Was I supposed to hold back? Would Usain Bolt run a race more slowly simply because his fellow racers weren’t as naturally fast? Of course not. This case was going to make an already wealthy man even richer, catapult L&D into the stratosphere of law firms, and make me a partner. But like I had told the jury, that was all window-dressing. Guilty is guilty, and if Hutchinson had had sturdier shelving for their heavy supplies, they wouldn’t have toppled onto Munro in the first place. The fact that he had been climbing said shelves—and partially drunk at ten in the morning—was beside the point.

I nodded to myself and tucked the stray lock of hair back into my severe twist. I had done nothing outside the bounds of the law. My father would be proud. With that thought bolstering me, I stepped smartly out the convertible, and handed the keys to the valet.

Before I could go in, my phone rang. I recognized my paralegal’s number.

“Abed, what’s up?”

“I tried to get the check for our expert on Folgate v. Robbs, but he only takes cashier’s checks and your name is on the account.”

I nodded. “He’s a paranoid, crazy bastard, but he’s going to destroy Robbs’ case with one expert sentence. I can get to the bank after I have lunch with the Posse.”

“Got it. Can I do anything else for you?”

Abed was my third arm and sometimes my second brain. I didn’t know what I’d do without him and fervently hoped I’d never have to find out.