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DAMIEN
Ipulled my brand-new Bugatti in front of the firm at six-thirty in the morning.
From what I’d gleaned from the other lawyers, whenever they were partnered with a new associate, they arrived early with a gift and treated them to a welcome breakfast and a tour. Of course, my associate currently owed me money, so I had to adjust that plan.
Still, I was willing to play nice with Miss Tanner.
For now.
Walking inside, I stepped onto the elevator.
Before the doors closed, a short brunette stepped inside with me.
“Are you Damien Carter?” she asked.
“Depends on why you need to know.”
“My name is Natalie Russo, and I need your help on the case of a century.”
“I’m not him then,” I said. “Try searching tomorrow.”
“Please. It’s life or death.”
“Does your case have anything to do with social media?”
“No.”
“Does it have anything to do with the book publishing industry?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
“For the record, I don’t defend murderers, child abusers, or drug dealers, so if you’re one of those, I’m not your guy.”
“What about rapists?”
I gave her a blank stare. “They’re the same as murderers in my book. Try Hannigan and Flynn on Fifth Avenue, if that’s what you need.”
“I was just asking. My issue is corporate fraud.”
“I’m listening.”
“Wait.” She handed me a hundred-dollar bill. “Me giving you this money means I officially have attorney-client privilege, right?”
“It means you have my attention for less than sixty seconds. I charge two thousand dollars an hour.”
“I heard it was five thousand for the off-the-record stuff.”
I smiled. “Now, I’mreallylistening.”
“I may or may not have sold some valuable information about my company to a competitor in exchange for millions.
“How many millions?”
“Less than thirty, more than ten.”
“Say less.” The doors opened on my floor. “Let’s talk in my office.”
Three Hours Later
