Page 40 of Fifty-Fifty

Scott said, ‘After we sever the trials, we can’t dictate which trial the DA will take first. Maybe they’ll take Sofia’s case first and if she’s convicted, well that might be enough for Dreyer to have one scalp – maybe he won’t risk going after

Alexandra. But there’s no way to make that happen. We can’t dictate which trial goes first after our motion to sever the trials is granted.’

Brad, Chad and Anderson nodded approvingly at Scott, then began looking at their own notes.

‘You don’t understand. I’m proposing we don’t sever the trials,’ said Kate.

Scott looked as though he’d been struck. His head rocked back on his shoulders, he frowned and wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

‘What do you mean, we don’t separate the trials? If the defendants are accusing one another we have to try – they’ll just destroy their own credibility by pointing the finger at each other. And what if Alexandra decides not to testify and Sofia testifies against Alexandra – we’d be screwed,’ said Scott.

‘It could only work if Alexandra testified,’ said Kate. ‘Look at it this way. In a separate trial, we have to beat the evidence from the DA. In a joint trial we only have to beat Sofia – a mentally unstable drug addict with a history of violence.

Alexandra is a professional young woman, with a clear record, who is totally convincing when she says she had nothing to do with the murder. She’s a dream

witness. Articulate, credible, sincere.’

‘It’s risky as all hell,’ said Anderson.

‘You know the old joke about the wildlife photographers who startle a lion on the African plain? The photographer closest to the lion changes out of his boots into a pair of Adidas running shoes. The other photographer says, You won’t outrun a lion in those shoes. And the first photographer says, Fuck the lion. I just have to outrun YOU.’

The meeting lasted another hour. Legal theories and strategies fired back and forth across the table. Now they would each go away and prepare notes. Not only would they present their strategies to Levy, but they were expected to critique each other’s strategies for any possible weaknesses. It was all riding on the paper that Kate would now write. The meeting with Levy tomorrow morning

was her shot at second chair in the trial.

Kate ate dinner alone at her desk and typed furiously on her laptop, building her theory of proceeding with a joint trial. Every now and again she flipped between the memo she was writing for Levy, and the dossier their investigators

had prepared on Alexandra.

If Kate could have Alexandra’s lifestyle, she would take it in a heartbeat.

Until the arrest, Alexandra had been a tall, blonde, rich socialite on the Manhattan scene. Parties, limos, dinners, and dresses that Kate could only dream of buying. Her real-estate business ran itself – she listed properties for the uber-rich. And the uber-rich bought them, sometimes without even so much as a viewing. A long list of celebrity boyfriends had been photographed in the gossip and social life pages of magazines – basketball players, actors, the sons of actors, TV hosts, and even shock-jock podcasters. And she was smart, too. Alexandra had it all. A great life and great clothes. Oh my god, the clothes, thought Kate.

A Park Avenue lifestyle. With money. Security and total luxury. Alexandra Avellino had absolutely no motive to kill her father. He had given her a dream

life. Set her on that path. She was the last person on earth who would harm her father.

Six o’clock came and went. Nobody left the office. This law firm existed on billable hours. If you weren’t billing your share, your ass hit the street fast. Kate started punching in at six a.m., and usually punched out at nine. Four hours on a Saturday morning too. On Sunday she crashed.

It was past seven o’clock when the first associate left for the evening. Kate watched him go, and leaned back in her chair, thrusting her arms to the ceiling and stretching her back. That’s when she heard Levy’s office door open and hurried footsteps on the floor behind her. Scott came out of Levy’s office. A spring in his step and a wide smile on his photogenic face. He got into the elevator and was gone.

Kate returned to the screen in front of her and read through her last sentence, careful to check for any typos. That’s when she heard Levy’s door again. He rarely left his office, usually only to go to meetings, or to go home. He had a private bathroom in there and a small army of secretarial staff to bring him lunch, dinner and endless glasses of chilled almond milk. She turned her head to see Levy coming toward her, hauling his pants up as he walked. He stopped behind her chair, and she resisted the urge to shudder as she felt his hand on her shoulder.

‘Any response from the DA’s office on my counter-offer?’ asked Levy.

‘No, not yet,’ said Kate.

‘Okay. Look, Katie, why don’t you finish this up in the morning?’ he said.

She felt his index finger slid across her collar bone, and not wanting to scream or turn and punch him in the balls, Kate simply swiveled her chair around to face him – forcing him to take his hand away.

‘I can’t, I need to write up my notes for tomorrow’s strategy presentation. I should be finished soon,’ said Kate.

‘But you’ve got to eat. You should take a break. I know a great little Italian restaurant right around the corner from my apartment. And the best thing is it delivers. We could go back to my place, order in, open a bottle of wine and you can tell me all about your case theory.’

For a second – a full second – the thought of going back to Levy’s apartment with him flashed through Kate’s mind. She wanted second chair. She wanted it

bad. But the moment passed, somehow leaving an unpleasant taste in her mouth