Jason listened patiently, asking appropriate questions as he tried to figure out what he should do. He felt a special bond with Andrew Lassiter. Others at Justice Inc. had a strictly business mind-set. They sweated over P amp;L statements, the intricacies of stock deals, budgets for the mock trials.
Lassiter, on the other hand, was more like Jason. Their obsession was figuring out what made juries tick. For Lassiter, being wrong on a jury verdict was like being unfaithful to your wife. It was a character flaw, not just a bad business prediction.
In a way, that compulsive behavior made Andrew Lassiter a kindred spirit. Normally, Jason, who had his own obsession with winning, would go out of his way to help.
But not when it meant taking on Robert Sherwood. The man had his faults, but he wasn’t the personification of evil that Lassiter was making him out to be. He was a tough business executive, and the squeeze play on Lassiter did not entirely surprise Jason. But Robert Sherwood also had a heart. He genuinely cared about social justice. And he had certainly helped Jason in the three months he had been on his own.
“What do you want me to do?” Jason asked.
“Represent me,” Lassiter said, his voice tense, a half octave higher than normal. “I need somebody to file suit-somebody who won’t be intimidated.”
“You don’t need me,” Jason protested. “You need somebody with experience in business law. Somebody who hasn’t worked for the company.”
This brought silence on the phone line, followed by the trademark throat-clearing to which Lassiter resorted under pressure. When Lassiter finally spoke, his voice was cracking, the raw emotion coming to the surface. “You’re wrong, Jason. You care about the same things I care about. This case will be tough. Other lawyers could be bought off or intimidated. I need somebody I can trust.”
Jason swallowed hard. He hadn’t asked for this-the plea of a desperate man. He felt like a kid in the middle of a nasty divorce.
“I’m not asking for a favor, Jason. I’ll pay whatever your rate is.”
Jason tried to imagine himself suing Robert Sherwood. The only way to get Andrew Lassiter reinstated would be to threaten the entire business plan of Justice Inc. Perhaps Jason could challenge the non-compete that Lassiter had signed, freeing him up to start a similar business. If other companies could use the same micromarketing formulas to predict these seminal cases, Justice Inc.’s business would take a major hit.
But Justice Inc. had treated Jason fairly. If not for Robert Sherwood, Jason wouldn’t be where he was now. His biggest clients had all been referrals from Sherwood. And what had Andrew Lassiter done for him?
“Andrew, I’m sorry. I just can’t take the case. I’ve got too many conflicting loyalties.”
Jason waited. The silence became awkward.
“You’re better off with another lawyer,” Jason insisted. “Somebody without the conflicts.”
“Thanks for your time,” Lassiter said, his voice cold. Before Jason could respond, his friend hung up the phone.
Jason walked over to the window and stared at the street below. He rubbed the back of his neck and watched the small flakes of snow dot the afternoon sky, a novelty in Richmond, particularly in December.
Was he intimidated by Robert Sherwood? A little. Was that the reason he had turned Lassiter down? Not really. It was a business decision. Jason had acted in spite of fear many times in the past. If he had to take on men like Robert Sherwood, he would do it.
At least that’s what he told himself.
This wasn’t the case of a little guy like Lassiter being taken advantage of by a powerful man with all the resources. If it were, Jason would feel compelled to intervene. Wasn’t that one of the things he had learned at Justice Inc.-the Robin Hood philosophy of justice?
No, this was just a business dispute, and Jason didn’t need to get in the middle of it. Besides, Andrew Lassiter would land on his feet. The guy was a certifiable genius.
But the questions wouldn’t go away-that gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Was he just scared? Was he betraying a friend?
It was just a business dispute, he reminded himself. Between two grown men.
24
The day before Christmas, Jason boarded a plane in Richmond for his second flight to Atlanta in less than two weeks. He ended up sitting next to a mom and her elementary-age son, who was excited to see his grandparents. When Jason deplaned in Atlanta, Hartsfield-Jackson was jammed with people, thousands of smiling and excited faces dragging kids and luggage through the terminals. Jason always felt an extra stab of loneliness and envy this time of year.
What would it be like to go home to a normal family-a mother who showered unconditional love on her kids, a father who didn’t try to control and manipulate, a sister who was there more than once every three years?
He would never know. For Jason, this Christmas would once again consist of arguments with his dad, followed by long periods of uncomfortable silence. The traditions and expectations of Christmas had a way of magnifying family shortcomings, like watching an episode of Father Knows Best followed by The Osbournes.
On his way to the baggage claim, Jason checked his messages. His father had called. He would be working the three-to-eleven shift, covering for an officer whose wife had been recently diagnosed with cancer. Detective Corey would pick Jason up at the airport. His dad left Corey’s cell number and said he was looking forward to seeing Jason later that night.
From the tone of his father’s voice, Jason doubted it.
Detective Matthew Corey was one of the youngest-looking forty-five-year-old men Jason knew. For starters, Corey spent about ninety minutes a day in the gym, tossing around the big plates, sculpting his muscles and toning his already impressively flat abs. He had thick dark hair, bushy black eyebrows, and skin that looked like it belonged on a shaving commercial. The only concessions to his age-particularly to his twenty-two years on the Atlanta police force-were the wrinkles starting to spiderweb away from the corners of his eyes.
“Thanks for coming,” Jason said.
“You’re family,” Corey said. He put on his turn signal and pulled away from the curb. “You’re lookin’ great,” he added, without conviction. It was a perfunctory greeting from a man whose favorite hobby was checking himself out in the mirror. He was probably fishing for a return compliment.
“You look like you’re getting a little flabby,” Jason responded.
Corey smiled. “Always the smart aleck. Glad to see law school hasn’t changed you.”
Years ago, as a rookie, Matt Corey had drawn Jason’s dad as his patrol partner. At least two times and maybe more, depending on who was telling the stories and how many beers they had polished off first, Jason’s dad had saved Corey’s life. Even after both men were reassigned-Jason’s dad as a homicide detective, Corey to the narcotics unit-they had remained tight.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for your dad,” Corey had told Jason. “ Nothing. I mean that.”
On the way to the house, they filled the ride with idle talk-Jason’s job, the investigations Corey was handling, Corey’s family. Corey had a need to impress even someone as insignificant as Jason, so he spent a fair amount of time bragging about this case or that drug bust, especially the arrests where the suspects put up a fight… and lived to regret it later.
When they were about five minutes from the house, the conversation turned to Jason’s dad.
“He’s drinking more,” Corey said. “Alone. And he’s been missing work.”
The news didn’t surprise Jason, but he was at a loss about what to do. His father had been drinking for years. The alcohol made him brood and loosened his tongue. He lashed out at those who tried to talk with him about it. Jason’s solution was to stay away.