Page 170 of Snap Shot

Pall scans up and down my torso. “You're pretty.” She glances next to me, a disgusting, sugary grin stretching her mouth. “Your lawyer isverypretty, Landon.”

I don't know what she's playing at, but it won't work. She doesn't know him. Addressing him to make it seem like it makes me wanna slap her silly.

Theresa chimes in with a gruff command. “Coffey.”

He responds by placing a hand in front of his client and shaking his head with closed eyes. The ring on his pinky finger glints at me with every page turn. Emotionless, he leans to the side and whispers something in Pall's ear, then faces me again.

“That doesn't prove anything.”

He must think I'm as incompetent as he is.

“It proves intent.” I brace myself for the next question. “Is there anything you can provide that proves your client's claimed promises from Mr. Radek?”

A pause passes.

“Don't worry, I've got you covered. Last page of the packet shows that my client had never used Ms. Pall's contact in his phone after entering it. That's not really conducive to having a conversation, much less a relationship.”

“Relationships can be secret,” he retorts. “Your client made sure of it.”

Landon tenses and straightens in his chair.

“There's not a trace. No emails, no clandestine meetings. In fact, I have several eyewitness statements from the Regents organization. Prior to the night when the photograph was obtained by Mr. Langley, my client had only met Ms. Pall three times, and only at team events where many were present. They attest the two had little interaction.”

“They had a verbal—”

A hiss escapes through my teeth. “Unfortunately, that's hearsay. It doesn’t hold up in court.”

Another set of papers gets pushed across.

“Let me catch you up to speed, Mr. Coffey. On January fifteenth of this year, Ms. Pall transferred five thousand dollars from her LLC—that's her business account in the U.S.—to Mr. Langley.”

Pall gasps as her green eyes go wide. “How did—”

He cuts her off. “Don't say anything.” Coffey’s eyes lower with a twitch to the signed statement with the receipt of funds.

“Two weeks later, after a tough game, Ms. Pall showed up at a bar that the team frequents, sidled up to my emotionally vulnerable client, and took the opportunity she'd planned with Langley.”

I shift my gaze from Pall to Coffey. The color of her face doesn't hide her seething.

“Your client hasn't been truthful with you. She hired Langley to take this photograph and agreed to split any profit he made from selling it. And she waited six months to do so. At the perfect moment when my client was at the peak of his game and had everything to lose.” My finger taps the tabletop, pointing toward the papers in hand. “Page five shows every payment made to Langley from various publications. Page seven shows that half of every payment was wired to your client's account the following day.”

Landon fights a smile. Theresa props her chin atop her clasped hands. Wagner and Tryon raise their eyebrows and share a knowing look.

Coffey drops a loud gulp in the noiseless room.

“I don't know how good you are at math,” I continue. “But I'll make it easy for you. Ms. Pall earned four hundred thousand dollars off of that single photo in a month.” Pall's nostrils flare at me as her lawyer murmurs in her ear once more. “That's twice heryearlysalary while she represented the Ottawa Regents.”

Her fists clench on the conference table as Coffey loosens his tie and wipes his upper lip. “I have a counteroffer. My client will pay fifty grand to cover emotional damage and loss of possible wages earned.”

The absolute gall. I return a series of disbelieving blinks. “You'rejoking, right? Is that supposed to cover the losses my client and his team bore? The disruption of their playoff streak cost Mr. Radek the potential of two hundred thousand dollars alone. Not including the harm to his privacy or marring his otherwise spotless reputation as the Regents' alternative captain.”

Rising to my feet, I lean on my hands and jut my chin forward. “Lucky for her, my client doesn't need or want Ms. Pall's dirty money. There are only two options, Mr. Coffey. Your client will make a public statement to the press within thirty days, redacting her previous allegations and admitting they were lies with the intent of tarnishing Mr. Radek's image, and she'll donate her earnings from the photograph to the charitable organization of my client’s choice. Or we can go to court, where I guarantee” —by the harrowed look in Coffey’s eyes, the threat isn't lost on him— “you'll see firsthand how good I am at winning.”

Pall protests quietly as she and Coffey discuss in the corner. Landon beckons with a finger, but all he can mutter is aGoddamntoward my ear before Coffey agrees to our terms.

Confidence rolls through my chest as I accept congratulations from my boss and Landon's reps before we exit the space. Even Pall scowling at me while being ushered out can't bring me down.

On the walk toward the curb, that same confidence pounding through my heart is replaced by renewed fear. It could be us, me. We may not have a relationship, but we have a trail of damning evidence of what we've done. What we're doing. Shit, shit, shit.

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