Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“Okay.” Andrew looked at me and hit the emergency stop button. Jessica, bring me some Clorox wipes!”
SEVERAL CASES LATER
EMOTIONAL DISTRESS*
N. AN INCREASINGLY POPULAR BASIS FOR A CLAIM OF DAMAGES IN LAWSUITS FOR INJURY DUE TO THE NEGLIGENCE OR INTENTIONAL ACTS OF ANOTHER
ELIZABETH
Something wasn’t right.
I hadn’t spoken with anyone in the mob, tampered with a crime scene, or negotiated a backdoor bribe in weeks. Every client who made appointments with me had cases that I could handle in my sleep: estate disputes, property record keeping, and will revisions.
The only thing that was remotely familiar was Damien’s personal case.
When I made it to work, Jessica grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bathroom.
“Mr. Carter hasn't been himself lately."
"What do you mean?"
She shot me a look.
"Okay, I've noticed," I said. "We've been working in the office for two straight weeks, and I'm getting cabin fever."
Sighing, she walked past me and checked all the stalls, ensuring we were alone. Then she placed her hands on my shoulders.
"I think you're having a good effect on him, but today is one of the days when it's best to steer clear of him outside of work."
"Is he--"
"He's not himself," she spoke slowly before looking away from me. “Just do the best you can.”
She left me alone, and I headed upstairs to his office.
Rachel and Tony, lawyers with far more experience than me, were already sitting in front of his desk as he scribbled notes on a legal pad.
"Miss Tanner is here now, so we can go over some of the new evidence we found," Rachel said.
Damien didn't look up.
He just continued writing.
"Give me one second." I grabbed a notebook and looked at them. "I'll take the notes. What case is this for?"
"Well, he hasn't really told us," she said. "He just gave us some information last week and told us to run with it. It's a fire proofing history for Sonny Caps Condos."
I looked over at Damien as he continued to tune us out.
Holding back a sigh, I bit my tongue. I’d become as obsessed with Sonny Caps as he was, but I’d learned to accept that nothing was there.
He was wasting his time trying to find something that only existed in his mind.
"Okay. What all do you have?"
"We have some notes from an old building inspector and we discovered some eyewitness testimonies about the night in question."
"Eyewitness testimony is literally the worst type of testimony." Damien finally looked up, his eyes bloodshot red.
“With all due respect, that's not true,” Tony said. Nonetheless, I assure you that these eyewitness testimonies are airtight.”
“Okay, Tony.” Damien put away his pen. “What color pen was I using just now?”
“A black one.”
“Rachel?” He looked at her. “What color was it?”
“Black.”
“And Elizabeth?”
“Black.”
He slammed it onto his desk.
It was light green.
“You three are lawyers with very high IQs. Yet, you were all staring at me for over a minute and you couldn’t determine what color pen I was using. Get me something better than bullshit eyewitness testimony.”
"Can we have a copy of the case file, so we can get an idea of what you need?" Rachel asked. "It's kind of hard to--"
"What you can do is get out of my office and come back when you've done the work I've asked you to do."
We stared at him blankly.
"Get out." He glared at us. "All of you. Now."
Later that night, I returned to Damien's office, slipping inside without knocking.
I cleared my throat, waiting for him to turn around from the windows, but he stared straight ahead.
“You know,” I said, “it would help us a lot, if we knew what you were looking for.”
“I’ll let you know when you find it. Keep digging.”
“I told them to call it a night and come back next week.”
“What?” He turned around. “Who gave you the authority to do that?”
“No one,” I said, moving closer. “Do you know what day of the week it is?”
“It’s Tuesday, Elizabeth.”
“It’s Friday.” I looked into his eyes. “And yesterday, when you demanded that I meet you at court and you got pissed that Judge Asher blew you off? That meeting was weeks ago and that case was closed.”
He stared at me.
“What the hell is wrong with you lately?”
“I’m burning up inside.”
“What?”
“You once asked me how I could sleep at night if I put an innocent person away or let a guilty person walk free.” He paused. “I’m lucky enough to have never dealt with the former, but the latter eats at me every goddamn day.”
I glanced at his desk.
The headlines I’d seen taped inside his closet were organized under new blueprints and fire reports.
“Who’s the guilty person you’re talking about?” I asked, stepping toward him. “There weren’t any survivors, so unless you’re insinuating that we’ve overlooked an eye witness or—”
“There were two survivors that night,” he said. “A young boy and a newborn girl.”