taste and resources was supposed to accumulate, the small but select
wine cellar, even his own helicopter-he had had all those things, but
three divorces, none of them amicable, had deteriorated his asset base.
The residence he now had left was straight from the pages of
Architectural Digest but its mortgage matched its stunning opulence
stride for stride. And the thing he truly didn’t have much of was cash.
Liquidity escaped him and at PS&L you ate what you killed and PS&L
partners didn’t tend to hunt in packs. That was why Lord’s monthly draw
was so much larger than everyone else’s. That revised draw check would
now barely cover his plastic bills; his monthly AmEx alone routinely
crept into the five-figure range.
He turned his now-racing gray cells for a moment to his non-Sullivan
clients. A rough ballpark estimate gave him maybe a half-million in
potential legal business at best, if he pumped them hard, made the
circuit, which he didn’t want to do, lacked any desire to do. That was
beneath him now. Or it had been up until good old Walter had decided
life just wasn’t worth living despite his several billions. Jesus
Christ. All for a little &unbshit whore.
Five hundred thou! That was even less than the little prick Kirksen.
Lord winced at that realization.
He wheeled around and studied the artwork on the far wall. Within the
brush strokes of a minor nineteenth-century artist he found reason to
smile once more. He had an option left to him. ‘Mough his biggest client
had royally screwed up Lord’s life, the rotund deal-maker had an asset
left to mine.
He punched his phone.
FRED MARTIN pusHED THE CART QUICKLY DOWN THE HALLway. Only his third day
on the job, and his first delivering the mail to the firm’s attorneys,
Martin was anxious to complete his task quickly and accurately. One of
ten gofers employed by the firm, Martin was already feeling pressure
from his supervisor to pick up his pace. After banging the streets for
four months with no weapons other than his BAin
history from Georgetown, Martin had figured his only recourse was to
attend law school. And what better place to plumb the possibilities of
such a career than at one of D.C.”s most prestigious? His endless trek
of job interviews had convinced him that it was never too early to
commence networking.
He consulted his map with the attorneys’ names listed in each square
representing that person’s office. Martin had grabbed the map from on
top of the desk in his cubicle, not noticing the updated version buried
under a multinational transaction closing binder that rose five thousand
pages high, the indexing and binding of which awaited him that
afternoon.
As he rounded the corner he stopped and looked at the closed door.
Everyone’s door was closed today. He took the Federal Express package
and checked the name on the map, and compared that to the scrawled
handwriting on the packing label. It matched. He looked at the empty
nameplate holder and his eyebrows converged in confusion.
He knocked, waited a moment, knocked again and then opened the door.
He looked around. The place was a mess. Boxes littered the floor, the
furniture was in disarray. Some papers lay scattered on the desk. His
first instinct was to check with his supervisor. Maybe there was a
mistake. He looked at his watch. Already ten minutes late. He grabbed
the phone, dialed his supervisor. No answer. Then he saw the photo of
the woman on the desk. Tall, auburn-haired, very expensively dressed.
Must be the man’s office. Probably moving in. Who’d leave a looker like
that behind? With that rationale established, Fred carefully laid the
package on the desk chair, where it would be sure to be found. He closed
the door on his way out.
“I’M SORRY ABOUT WALTER, SANDY. I REALLY A.M.” JACK checked the view
across the cityscape. A penthouse apartment in Upper Northwest. The
place must have been enormously expensive, and the dollars had continued
to flow for the interior design. Everywhere Jack looked were original
paintings, soft leather and sculptured stone. He reasoned that the world
didn’t have many Sandy Lords and they had to live somewhere.