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My chest burns. I realize why I hate the man so much. It’s stupid I didn’t see it before.
He did what my own father did.
Kind of.
And now I’m treating my client the way my father treated people.
Maybe Marty senses my realizations about myself because he calms down a little, too.
“You’re right,” he looks me in the eye, his voice more controlled. “Look. I’m not asking for any favors. I did take the money. I wanted to give it to my wife because she needed it for the kids’ food and clothes. I did feel horrible I hadn’t given her any money since I moved out. So I took it, and there are penalties I’m willing to pay.” He rubs the back of his neck, and there are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.
“But I wasn’t keeping it,” he says, “and I didn’t spend any of it. I was putting it back when I got caught. I swear. So I’m hoping you can help the judge know the truth, so that I’m not serving more time than is necessary. I want to go home to my wife and try to pick up the pieces and make amends.” His bottom jaw grates back and forth and he rubs above his eye. “I’ve been attending twelve-step meetings since I got out of jail. Hopefully that will help me get to a better place so I can fix my mistakes.”
I sigh and rub the spot on my temple that’s throbbing. I have a metal claw that’s reaching from the base of my neck, all along my head, and clamping down on my forehead. “I’ll do what I can.” I push a form in front of him. “Take this home and fill it out in its entirety. Provide as much detail as you can. This will give me a better picture of what happened. And be sure to sign it and bring it back in the next day or two. We’ll be in touch.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Marty meets my gaze. His is a tortured one.
I don’t like this. I don’t like the nuances that come with cases like this or defending someone who’s guilty.
Still, I offer him a smile, as best as I can. I want to work hard for him. I want to do my part. I just can’t stop seeing my dad’s face when I look at him.
And next time I get assigned a pro bono case, I hope it’s something like social security or tax issues. Almost anything would be better than this.
“You got everything you need in here?” Jay Knowles, Weatherby’s son-in-law and partner, pops his head into my new upstairs office later that day.
“It’s a dream come true!” I hold out my arms enthusiastically. “Look at it. A lot of potential.”
I mean what I’m saying. Yeah, the space is less than half the size of the downstairs offices. And I don’t exactly love being the only person upstairs. I like the hive mind and having lots of people in and out.
But it’s a fresh slate, with new carpet, paint, a balcony, and a lot of possibilities.
And . . . Aria’s apartment is right next door. That’s a bonus, too.
“It’s nice.” Knowles says, collapsing in a chair I’ve stationed across the desk from mine. “My wife is coming in this weekend to spruce my space up. She didn’t want me to bring over anything from the old building except for the photos of the fam, you know? She’s got all these visions in her head.”
I can read between the lines. “Expensive visions?”
He laughs in agreement. “Uh huh. But she insists it will help with client retention. So I’m trying to go with it.”
“How are your cases?” I ask him. “Anything you need to workshop?”
Right now, I’d much rather think about his instead of my own, especially Fleming’s theft case.
He nods. “Mediation in the morning. Hopefully it goes smoothly. Pops says I’m ready. How’s the theft case?”
“Pops” is Weatherby to Knowles, and I feel a stir of discomfort when I hear him say it. I’d like to call my boss “Pops.” I’ve almost said it a time or two, but I always chicken out.
“It’s going, I guess.” I change the subject. “Still waiting for the green light on the Dahlen case.” There’s a sour taste in my mouth. “Wish I could start preparing, but I don’t have access to anything yet. You heard anything?” I swear, if Weatherby gives the mother lode Dahlen prenup and will case to Knowles . . .
“Aleecia Dahlen came in this morning, but Pops is still trying to hold her off. I don’t know what he’s waiting for.”
“He might be stalling because he’s waiting for me to get more done with the festival,” I tap out my anxieties with my fingers on the desk.
Knowles laughs. “He knows you’re working on it. You always do.” He chews on the corner of his bottom lip and makes a show of pulling at his collar, like he’s nervous about trying to keep up. “Besides, your face is all over every billboard in town.”
My neck heats up. “Yeah. I think that’s proof enough right there.”
“How did you get so unlucky? I had to volunteer last year and all I was assigned to do was take tickets at some fancy dinner and cashier for a couple of days at the festival.”
