“Second thing,” he continues, “there may be some federal racketeering charges coming for my sons soon.”
“May be?” I ask. “Those usually come with an indictment…”
“Let’s just say I have an inside tip,” he says. “I don’t want to see any of my sons in prison for what I asked them to do.”
Then stop committing fucking crimes…
“So, I’ll, uh, have someone ride over with briefcases of everything I’ve heard and things that may possibly come up with a grand jury in the coming weeks.”
I hold back a sigh.
I hate this man as a client, but I love what he represents.
A chance at winning something nearly impossible, a chance at reaching a promise I made years ago. But more importantly, a way to fuck the system over like it fucked me…
“If your sons get indicted by the feds, expect the judge to make them give up their passports until the official trial,” I say.
“Three steps ahead of you.” He pulls the booklets from his jacket and slides them across the table. “Can you push hard to make sure they remain out on bond until then as well?”
“Always.”
An uneasy silence fills the room, and this is usually the part where we shake hands and move on, but I can’t.
There’s something he’s not telling me, and there’s a lot more I’m not telling him.
How much does Scarlett know about what you really do for a living?
I’m tempted to ask him, but he clears his throat before I can say a word.
“You look like there’s something more we need to discuss,” he says. “What do you need from me?”
“I’ll need a team of fifty dedicated to just your cases.”
“Don’t you employ over two hundred people?”
“I have tons of other clients, Lucas.”
“How many are paying you a ten-million-dollar retainer?”
“This isn’t about money…”
“It has to be.” He shrugs. “I’ll pay whatever it costs for you to handle things, and you know it. What am I missing?”
“Give me one minute.” I stand up from the table and walk to the windows on the far side of the room.
Outside, Scarlett is pacing between two lampposts—her hair fluttering in the wind as she bites down hard on her bottom lip.
For a moment, I consider that she might’ve had a reason to feed me deception. Hell, for every lie he gave me, I could counter with ten I gave her, so maybe—just maybe—it makes me a bit of a hypocrite.
Perhaps there’s something we can salvage.
I watch her make another turn, and my chest tightens as she presses her hand against the sapphire charm I gave her.
There’s nowhere we can possibly go after this…
I shut the blinds and turn around.
“I need every single detail, Mr. Lucas,” I say. “I want your phone records, emails, everything you think the feds might use against you.”
