Chapter One
“As you can see, we have a strong argument that Commissioner Stein was not guilty of corruption or bribery as it relates to the federal funds he received.” I turned to face the room again, putting my back to the presentation on the whiteboard.
Outside, snow swirled in the air, falling to the streets in fat flakes that would likely turn to mud before long. Much like my client’s reputation. I tried not to think about how that reflected on me and my goals.
“Yes, but what about the 2018 ruling? What was it?” One of the partners—Teague—fumbled with the notes before him.
“Legacy Holdings v. Smith.” I spoke with confidence, and he nodded. “There are a few reasons that our case is distinguishable from that one,” I said before launching seamlessly into them.
I scanned the faces in the room, sensing that they were impressed, particularly my boss, Geoff. When I finished, he stood. “Thank you, Audrey. Very thorough, as usual.”
I took my seat next to Ben, and he high-fived me under the table, though he seemed reluctant to release my hand. “Good job.”
“Thanks.” My shoulders relaxed once my hand was free, the tension easing out of me as Geoff moved on to a different facet of the case.
I’d busted my ass on this case, and it was my first big break since joining the firm three years ago. If I wanted to be a partner, this was the type of case I needed on my resume. Our client’s actions were shady as hell, but as Ben liked to remind me—that wasn’t my concern. Our concern was winning.
And though I was still stuck doing mostly grunt work as a junior associate, my annual performance review was coming up. Several of us were being considered for senior associate positions, and I would do anything in my power to advance. Senior associates had better assignments, the chance to argue cases in court, and were in a stronger position to become partner down the line. And becoming a partner meant more control over the types of clients I brought in and the cases I worked on.
Through the glass panes of the conference room, I saw my assistant, Susan, striding down the hall with a sense of purpose. She slipped through the door while Geoff continued talking. She passed me a piece of paper that read, “Officer from Boston PD wants to speak with you.”
What the hell?
I frowned at the scrap before shaking my head and folding it. I had no idea why the Boston Police Department would be here, but whatever it was would have to wait.
Susan crouched beside me to whisper in my ear. “He said it’s imperative he speaks to you—immediately.”
I glanced up at the whiteboard, sensing the meeting was nearing its close. Even so, I hesitated.
“Go,” Ben said, leaning into me. “I’ll catch you up later.”
I hated to leave, but it seemed I had no choice. “Thanks.”
I followed Susan down the hall to my office, garland lining the desks of the assistants. Wreaths hung on the doors, announcing it was almost Christmas. It didn’t feel like Christmas to me, other than the fact that I was looking forward to visiting Vermont next week.
“Sorry, Audrey,” Susan said. “I stalled as long as I could, but he’s pretty insistent.”
“It’s fine.” I smiled, knowing she’d likely done her best. At least I’d been able to complete my presentation without interruption. “Thanks.”
As we approached her desk, I saw a man in a police uniform standing beside it. Colleagues slowed as they passed, and it felt as if everyone were watching, whispering, wondering what I’d done wrong. My gut churned with unease, but I couldn’t possibly think of why the police would be here. And what they’d want with me.
“Ms. Monroe?”
“Yes,” I said, annoyed by the interruption but trying to be polite. “Can I help you?”
He glanced around. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
I furrowed my brow. “Sure. Right this way.”
He followed me into my office but remained standing. “Are you related to Scott Monroe of Sunnyville, California?”
“Yes.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, my insides at war. It seemed highly unlikely that my father would’ve been arrested, especially considering the fact that he lived in a town like Mayberry fromThe Andy Griffith Show. But then again—this was the Boston Police Department. Paying me a personal visit. It must be bad. “He’s my father.”
“I’m sorry to inform you that your father passed away last night.”
I sank down in my chair, the expensive leather smooth against my skin. My father had tried to call me last night.
The officer droned on, offering his condolences, but it all went in one ear and out the other, until he said, “Ms. Monroe, are you all right? Is there someone I can call for you—a friend, a family member, perhaps?”
