beer with him that night, and they quickly became friends.
Except for occasional, relatively innocuous brushes with the law,
Crimson was a good, if unwelcome, client to the halls of Patton, Shaw.
It had been part of Jack’s deal that Tarr, who had fired his last
attorney, would be allowed to follow Jack to Patton, Shaw as if the firm
would have actually said no to their new four-million-dollar man.
He put down his pen and moved one@e again to the window as his thoughts
drifted back to Kate Whitney. An idea lumbered across the forefront of
his mind. When Kate had left him originally, Jack had gone to see
Luther. The old man had had no words of wisdom, no instant solution to
Jack’s dilemma. Indeed, Luther Whitney was the unlikeliest person in the
world to have the answer that would reach to his daughter’s heart. And
yet Jack had always been able to talk to Luther. About anything. The man
listened. He really listened. He didn’t merely wait for you to pause
with your own story so he could plunge in with his own troubles. Jack
wasn’t sure what he was going to say to the man. But whatever it was he
was certain Luther would listen. And that was probably going to have to
be good enough.
One hour later Jack’s computerized calendar buzzed a warning. Jack
checked the time and threw on his jacket.
Jack moved quickly down the hallway. Lunch with Sandy Lord in twenty
minutes. Jack was uncomfortable about being with the man, alone. Legions
had been spoken about Sandy Lord, mostly true, Jack assumed. He wanted
lunch with Jack Graham, Jack’s secretary had told him this morning. And
what Sandy Lord wanted he got. Jack’s secretary also reminded him of
that in a hushed whisper that made Jack slightly repulsed.
Twenty minutes, but first Jack had to check with Alvis on the Bishop
documents. Jack smiled as he remembered Barry’s face when the drafts had
been placed carefully on his desk, thirty minutes before the deadline.
Alvis had scanned them, the astonishment clear on his features.
“This looks pretty good. I realize I gave you a tough deadline. I don’t
usually like to do that.” His eyes were averted.
“I really appreciate the hustle, Jack. I’m sorry if I screwed up your
plans.”
“No sweat, Barry, that’s what they pay me for.” Jack had turned to
leave. Barry had risen from his desk.
“Jack, uh, we really haven’t had a chance to talk since you’ve been
here. Place is so damn big. Let’s have lunch one day, soon.”
“Sounds great, Barry, have your secretary give mine some dates.”
At that moment Jack realized that Barry Alvis wasn’t such a bad guy. He
had dinged Jack, but so what? Compared to how the senior partners ran
their underlings, Jack had gotten off easy. Besides, Barry was a
first-rate corporate attorney and Jack could learn a lot from him.
Jack passed Barry’s secretary’s desk but Sheila was not there.
Then Jack noticed the boxes stacked against the wall. Barry’s door was
closed. Jack knocked, but there was no answer.
He looked around and then opened the door. His eyes closed and reopened
as he looked at the empty bookcases, at the rectangular patches of
unfaded wallpaper where a slew of diplomas and certificates had hung.
What the hell? He closed the door, turned and bumped into Sheila.
Normally professional and precise in her manner, without a hair out of
place and glasses set firmly on the bridge of her nose, Sheila was a
wreck. She had been Barry’s secretary for ten years. She stared at Jack,
fire flashed through her pale blue eyes, and then was gone. She turned
around, walked quickly back to her cubicle and started packing up boxes.
Jack stared blankly at her.
“Sheila, what’s going on? Where’s Barry?” She did not respond. Her
hands moved faster until she was literally throwing things into the box.
Jack moved over next to her, looked down at the petite frame.
“Sheila? What the hell’s going on? Sheila!” He grabbed her hand. She
slapped him, which shocked her so badly she abruptly sat down. Her head