Indicted (Bad Judgment #1) (11 page)

I
stayed
in my dirty suit through the next couple of hours even though my nice new clothes were still in Walker’s trunk; instead of worrying about how I looked, I prepared a detailed summary of what I’d reviewed. There was nothing that looked out of the ordinary to me except for Miami. The records were flawless. I wasn’t an auditor — and for our next step, we would have these records reviewed by an auditor — but I’d analyzed enough tax returns to recognize if something was a red flag. No red flags. No additional payments to Walker. Nothing.

Nothing.

“I need to go in and talk to David,” I said, standing up. “I need to see if the government’s shown him anything, given any sort of hint, about the evidence they’re submitting for trial.”

“I wish I could come,” he said, “but I have a previous engagement.” He stuck out his leg, pulling up his sweats to reveal his GPS bracelet.

“We need to make a list of approved things to do, to get you out of the house. Grocery store. Church. Work appointments.”

“I don’t go to grocery stores, and I don’t go to church,” he said.

“Well, there’s no time like the present to start.” I went over and patted him on the shoulder. I didn’t say anything. He looked lost, I knew that any platitude I gave him right now would just make it worse.

So I just squeezed his shoulder and went to get ready for work.

“
W
ell
, who’s the prettiest associate in the whole wide world?” Tammy asked, when I got to my office.

I’d grabbed my clothes from Walker, gone home and taken a quick shower before heading into the office. I laughed at her compliment and smoothed down my new belted, blue dress. “Not me,” I said, “but I did go shopping and get some pretty new clothes. ‘Cause I looked pretty bad at that press conference.”

“Just the first one,” Tammy said. “You looked awesome at the second one. Sorry about the bronzer,” she said, meekly. “It was dark in your office when I put it on you.”

“Tammy,” I said, not wanting her to feel bad, “the bronzer was the least of my problems.”

“The oily roots were worse,” she said, sympathetically.

I winced at the memory. “None of it was good. Anyway, I appreciate your trying to help me. It could have been much worse.”

She smiled at me. “Thank you, honey. Now…how’s it going with the hot client?”

“It’s going,” I said, as she followed me into my office. “What’s going on around here?” There were files with Post-it notes piled high on my desk; I sighed inwardly, wishing I had a twin, so she could sit here and plow through some of these files.

Tammy closed the door behind her, which was never a good sign. “Well, first of all, some of the other partners are barking that you haven’t been to see them on their files.” I rolled my eyes, but I’d expected nothing less. Even though they’d been told by David Proctor that I was straight-out on our firm’s biggest case, I’d known they’d get pouty. Really, they were like a bunch of jealous little kids. You had to make each of them feel like they were special. Otherwise, they’d throw a temper tantrum.

“What else?” I asked.

“Alexa has been throwing fits on a regular basis,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She keeps saying that she’s the only one doing any work on this case, and that you’re off mooning over Broden Walker, and the whole trial is going to go to shit.”

I snorted. “It’s too bad that she never shuts up,” I said. “Who’s she saying this to?”

“Anyone who’ll listen. But mostly the other associates. She’s trying to make it look like you’re enjoying a vacation at Walker’s mansion.” She paused for a beat. “So how is it, anyway?”

“Mansion-ly,” I said. “It’s perfect. Back Bay classic. I’m afraid to touch anything in it.” That wasn’t really true; I was probably more comfortable there than I should be. “But he’s in so much trouble, Tammy. I’m really worried. We have so much work to do, and we still don’t know what the prosecution is planning.” I paused for a second, looking at the enormous stack of files on my desk. “Who else is complaining?” I asked, trying to sound disinterested.

“No one else is complaining, exactly,” she said. “But Norris Phaland has been coming by regularly. Asking if you’ve been sending in notes.”

“I’m not supposed to be sending in notes,” I mumbled to myself. “I’m sorry you’ve been having to deal with him.” I shivered. “I don’t even like to be in the same room with him. He gives me the creeps.”

“Me too,” she said. “And I don’t like him snooping around my favorite associate. Honestly, Nicole, it
is
really bothering me that he’s been poking around like this. I haven’t seen this much of him since I started here fifteen years ago.”

We just looked at each other for a beat. I felt my temples start to pound. “What has he been saying?”

“He doesn’t say much. He just asks if you’ve sent in any tapes, when I last talked to you, where you are. And he looks around a lot. Like he’s looking for your stuff. I can see him trying to read my screen, reading the names of the files on my desk…I don’t get it. But you need to watch your back.”

“I’m working on it,” I said. The pounding in my head became sharper, painful. I either needed some more coffee, or I needed vodka. I looked at the clock: it was ten a.m.

We could hear Tammy’s phone ring through the door and she jumped up to get it. She came back in a second later. “David Proctor wants to see you in his office. Now.”

I frowned at the piles on my desk, and then I turned to find Tammy looking at me, worriedly.

“I’m going to be okay,” I assured her, grabbing my laptop.

“I know you are. You’re tough and you’re smart. I just want you to win this case, show them all how brilliant you are, make partner, marry a millionaire, retire and have a baby.”

I laughed. “You keep saying that.”

“I want the best for you, Nicole. I know how hard you work. What a good person you are. Everything you do for your father.” I looked at her and flushed in gratitude; I had nothing but respect for Tammy, and the fact that she held me in high regard meant the world to me. “And I want Norris Phaland to leave you the hell alone.”

“Me too,” I said. “Thanks for everything, Tammy. I’ll talk to you later.” I walked down the hall as quickly as I could; I didn’t want to risk a run-in with Alexa or even Mandy. They’d want to talk about Walker and his beautiful house and complain about how buried they were with work. I couldn’t even get my own thoughts straight about the case right now; I didn’t want to get even more jumbled up. I saw Andrew out of the corner of my eye and I put my head down. I’d never been that sociable and I didn’t need to start now.

I made it down to David's office. His assistant, Linda, who was an older, unfriendly woman who wore pearls every day, scowled at me in lieu of a greeting. I scowled back. I did it partly because I was overtired, partly because she was irritating, partly just because I could and it had never occurred to me before. I had never been a push-backer. I had a feeling that was changing — I had too much shit to do. I held her gaze and made sure I looked unimpressed.

Impressed, she picked up her phone and buzzed David immediately.

“Nicole,” David Proctor said, from behind a mouthful of food, as he came out of his office. “What do you have?”

“A box of clean tax records that goes back three years. And nothing else,” I said, slumping into one of his overstuffed leather chairs and balancing my laptop on my knees. “I’ve got nothing that shows me where the government’s going with this. Honestly, David, I need to see something. I don’t even know where to start with Walker, because he seems clean. I can’t fight something unless I know what it is. He’s entitled to a fair trial. We can’t plan without
some
sort of idea of what they’ve got.”

He sat at his desk, looking over some papers, eating what was either an early lunch or a late breakfast, completely unselfconscious of the crumbs that littered his mustache and sprinkled his tie. “What do you know about Walker?” he asked, without looking at me. The question took me by surprise.

“I know that he joined the armed services at eighteen, instead of going to college. I know he was in Special Ops in Serbia, and he created some sort of GPS tracking device for espionage purposes. I know he patented it, and that the government bought lots of them. And that he innovated that device, and created a slew of other ones, and that these inventions formed the basis of Blue Securities. I know he has thousands of patents, and that most of his contracts are exclusive to the United States government. Most, not all.”

“What else?”

“His tax records seem clean going back three years. There was one thing I had a question about, a sub-corporation, and he said it’s a tax shelter. It’s been audited and approved. He trusts his CFO, Lester Max, to run his company while he’s out. He doesn't understand why this is happening to him, and he’s angry and upset.”

“That’s it?” he asked, finally turning to me and looking at me. “You’ve spent close to a hundred billable hours with the guy and that’s all you’ve got?”

I didn’t say anything for a second. I didn’t know what to say. I felt a creeping blush on my neck, hot and ugly; I hadn’t expected to get chastised. “David, from what I’ve seen of him, and the records I’ve examined, I’m as baffled by the charges as he is.”

“So as of right now,” David said, finally wiping his face and dusting the crumbs of his suit, “you believe he’s innocent?”"

“Yes. I do.” We looked at each other for a beat.

“Well, good,” David said. “I hope you’re right.”

That calmed me down a little. I hoped I was right, too. “Has Marnie Edmonds given you anything yet?”

“She’s taking her time,” he said. “She’ll do it when she has to, which will be soon. But Nicole, you know they are basing these charges on
something
. Just because Walker is crying wolf right now doesn’t mean that the government is the real wolf.”

“You think Walker’s the wolf?” I asked, and David shrugged.

“I know he’s pretty,” he said, “and he’s a very likable guy. But things are not always what they seem. I want you to remember that. I want you to keep working with him, keep him talking, all off the record, of course.” I nodded at him. I knew what this meant: don’t take notes and don’t tape him. Because eventually, it could come back to bite us in the ass.

“Will you tell Norris Phaland that, please?” I asked as I stood up. “He’s been asking my assistant for my notes and transcripts.”

“He was just making sure you didn’t fuck up and make some,” David said. “Now, go back to Walker’s. I need you to work on getting through the rest of those boxes and doing the summaries. Keep checking for new files on the server. Call me this afternoon and let me know how it’s going.

“And Nicole,” he said. I turned around. “Send
me
the summaries. Not Tammy. Don’t email it to yourself, either.” He didn’t look at me, he just flipped through the papers on his desk, scattering more crumbs.

I didn’t ask why. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.

W
alker sent
me several texts as I was leaving the office.

Please come back soon it’s boring without you.

Pack a suitcase. You know you’ll work all night again.

Please get me a sandwich.

Then, one minute later:
Can you hurry up? I’m hungry and lonely.

I laughed to myself and took a cab to my apartment, where I decided to pack enough for the next few days. I flushed at the thought, but I reminded myself that it was work, that it was perfectly above-board, and that I was doing nothing wrong.

And then I started packing all my fanciest, laciest underwear. The ones I hadn’t worn since I’d started dating Mike. They’d been retired in favor of cotton underwear…the kind you wore when you hoped no one was going to be taking your clothes off. That’s because I was always hoping that Mike wasn’t going to take my clothes off.

I couldn’t wear cotton underwear like that in Walker’s house. It would be blasphemous.

I exhaled and looked at all the fancy underwear in my suitcase. I felt like I needed a sponsor. I needed to call Mimi Johnstone.

Mimi was the only woman partner I’d bonded with at Proctor. I’d been sad when she’d left, six months after I’d started, to take over as General Counsel at huge Internet company. Mimi was tall, smart, and fearless. But most of all, she was helpful. She’d pulled me aside during my summer internship at an office outing, when one of the partners had drunk too much wine and was openly flirting with me. “Put him in his place
,
” she’d said. “Set the tone now. If you let him get away with it, he’ll talk, and this will be your life forever, fending them off.”

I told the partner that my boyfriend was in law enforcement and had a wicked temper. Nothing could have been further from the truth, but it worked. He backed off and no one hit on me again. I thanked Mimi a few months later, when I saw some of the other new associates getting practically felt-up at the firm Christmas party.

“You can’t let them put you in that box,” she’d said that night. “They’ll padlock the motherfucker.” Mimi had managed to evade them: at thirty-five, she’d been the firm’s youngest partner, and one of the few female ones. She worked sixty-five hours a week, cutting back from the eighty she’d worked her first few years. She ran five miles every day at lunch, even in Boston’s crappy winters. It was her rule. Everybody knew she did it, and no one put appointments in her schedule for that hour. They knew better.

I checked my watch to make sure it wasn’t lunchtime. Then I dialed before I lost my nerve.

“Mimi Johnstone,” she answered formally, not recognizing my rarely-used landline.

“Mimi,” I said, twisting my hair nervously. “It’s Nicole. Nicole Reynolds.”

“You don’t need to use your last name, Nicole,” she said and laughed. “What’s going on, girl? I know you’re not the type to call me to chat.”

“We have that Blue Securities case,” I said. My voice came out strained.

“I know,” Mimi said. “I saw you on the six o’clock news. And I saw David Proctor — he looked like the cat that just swallowed the zillion-dollar canary. How’s it going?”