Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Steve opens the door, my dismissal clear, but not without a parting shot. “Lara, you still want the FBI recommendation?”
“Of course.”
“Then find some damn evidence.”
11
IAN
Week 2: Wednesday Afternoon
Vanessa Lewis is the spitting image of Beyoncé, has the confidence to match, and thus is the hottest woman I know.
And one I’ll never hit on.
Why? One doesn’t hit on his lawyer. Even I know that.
Also, she’s not the one I want.
“Ian. Are you listening?”
I stop strumming my fingers against the mahogany wood of my desk as I realize I’ve been staring blankly at her the entire time she’s been speaking. It’s our second meeting. The one on Monday had been to take care of logistics—discussing her fee, signing her retainer, etc. This meeting is about my case, and I’m . . . not paying attention.
“Sorry.” I sit up straighter. “What?”
Her brown eyes narrow just slightly, full lips pursing as she sits back in the chair across the desk and studies me.
“Ian,” she says finally. “What do you know about me?”
“Uh . . .” My brain scrambles. Is this a trick question? It feels like a trick question.
“Why do you think I took your case?” she amends, apparently reading my panic.
I relax. I got this. “Because you believe I’m innocent.”
It’s the other reason I’m damn impressed by the woman. In addition to having a near-flawless record, she’s got something rarer than her legal brass: integrity.
It’s an interesting quirk that’s earned her as much disdain as it has admiration.
I’m in the latter category.
Being cleared of all allegations is my top priority, obviously, but I don’t want it to be at the hands of some snake who doesn’t care one way or the other whether I’m a criminal douchebag.
“I do believe you’re innocent,” Vanessa says, bringing my attention back to her. “And I’m glad I was able to take on your case. But just as I expect my clients to be honest with me, I believe in being honest with them.”
“And?”
“Your case isn’t looking good, Ian.”
I tense, my fingers resuming their tapping on the desk. “You know this already?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I have more research to do, obviously. But here’s what’s bothering me . . . typically, when the SEC gets some sort of tip about insider trading, they’ll launch an informal investigation to vet their source and determine the potential legitimacy of the accusation. Which they have. But so far, I’ve seen what they’ve seen from the files, and there’s not much there. There’s zero connection between you and J-Conn that I’ve found, which means they haven’t found it, either.”
I try to follow. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
She shakes her head. “Not even a little bit. With the lack of concrete evidence I’m seeing, Lara McKenzie should have packed her bags by now. Instead, she’s still camped out in that conference room pushing papers around.”
“Meaning?”
“Whatever tip they received, whatever evidence they think they can find, they’re damn sure they can win with it,” she says matter-of-factly.
Shit.
“Nor do I love that it’s Lara McKenzie working your case,” Vanessa continues. “She looks like a lamb but thinks like a fox. What are your impressions of her?”
Well, hell. I can’t tell her the truth—that Lara and her hot glasses are playing on repeat in my dirtiest fantasies. Beneath me, above me, in front of me bent over my desk . . .
But I can’t lie to her, either. Or rather, I could, but Vanessa made it clear in our first meeting that if she ever found out I was lying, she’d drop my case faster than a bad oyster. Her words.
“She seems by the book,” I evade. “Follows the rules.”
Vanessa nods. “That’s precisely why she’s so good and, I fear, is exactly why they put her on your case. McKenzie’s reputation is nearly as good as mine. She doesn’t power play, doesn’t grandstand. She gathers and recites facts, and judges love her for it.”
“She can’t recite facts she doesn’t have, though. So unless she’s making them up . . .”
“Okay, let’s back up,” Vanessa says, her tone switching to soothing. “We need to figure out why you’re in their crosshairs. They’re here because they got a tip, but we don’t know who’s accusing you of insider trading or why.”
“I already told you—”
“I know, I know, no mortal enemies, no archrival out to take you down,” she interrupts. “But look, Ian, this isn’t a movie. The person behind this isn’t going to be lurking in your peripheral vision making overt threats with a sinister laugh. The answer will be in the subtleties.”
“I don’t really do subtleties,” I say honestly. “In anything.”
She surprises me by laughing. “So I’ve heard. But it’s time to start, at least for this.”
Vanessa stands and pushes a blank yellow legal pad across the desk to me. “I want you to make a list of every person you’ve crossed paths with in the last year. Hell, make it the last two years. Anyone who might be jealous, resentful, pissed, write their name down. Don’t discount people you think are friends. Anyone who you’ve toasted Pappy with, write it down.”