Page 6 of The Suit

“We aren’t restarting the feud because it never went away. And it’s not a feud, it’s a mutual loathing. She’s my arch-nemesis, and I’m hers. It was a meeting of nemesises, nemeses, nemise…?” I could see Murray grinning as another dart hit the board, this time between her eyes. “Whatever. Make your bet, it’s totally pointless.”

“You’re on,” Murray replied, also ignoring me. “A hundred grand. But who’s paying up seeing as we both think it’s happening this time?”

Penn stroked his chin in a manner befitting a Machiavellian dictator as he thought. “Raf, how long is this case going on for?”

If I had my way, it would last for no longer than five days; until Friday, when they’d accept the more than generous - on our part - settlement offer. However, I knew there was going to be a fight for this because the initial paperwork I’d seen had Johnson Maynard valued at somewhere between a paltry twenty to forty mil, something both his soon-to-be ex-wife and three kids had called bullshit on, and what my very-well-paid investigators were currently investigating. Probably would have been helpful to listen to what the she-devil had to say earlier on the off chance it was something useful, but guess I couldn’t have everything.

“I dunno. A month maybe? It depends what Diego finds. Not much fucking longer I hope, or someone else can take it on.” The dart hit right on the curve of her lip, which wasn’t saying much seeing as her pouty mouth took up so much space, especially when it was open and yelling at me.

“Hmmm, what about two weeks? Just before Memorial Day weekend.”

I pulled the darts out and started again. “Just give Murray a hundred grand right now, it’ll save us all some time.”

“Two weeks is bold. You really think that soon?”

“They’ve had a decade of pent-up angst to fuck out. Why? What are you thinking?”

Because I was not concentrating on what I was doing and was actually flabbergasted that this conversation was taking place in equal measure, my throw went wide and hit the wall. Thankfully, Murray was too deep in his stupid conversation with Penn to notice the small hole it had left.

“You know what? Why don’t you two just give me two hundred grand, and we’ll all go home.”

“I’m thinking by July Fourth.”

“I’m telling both you fuckheads now, that I will definitely not be working on this case by July Fourth. If it’s still going, I will have handed it over.” Once again, I was speaking only to myself.

“Okay, deal.” Murray and Penn shook hands on their asinine bet that neither would win.

The thought of still battling Beulah Holmes by July Fourth was enough to make me want to repeatedly stab the darts I was holding directly into my eyes. Three years at Harvard Law with her was more than many lifetimes worth, and I needed to get this over with.

Probably ought to start now.

“Right, I need to focus. I have to get through the next few weeks. I have a divorce to win, and I need to do it without committing murder. Or worse, spending any time longer than the bare necessity working against that woman.”

I took the board off the wall and placed it back in the box, then slipped my suit jacket on.

“Okay, buddy,” Penn hugged me. “Talk to you later. You’re going to win this, Raferty, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks,” I replied, straightening my tie.

I’d never before doubted my ability to win; I was an excellent lawyer, number one in my class and owner of one of the biggest pro-bono law firms in New York City. Yet there was something brewing in my belly, the early roots of unease taking hold, and I knew it had everything to do with her.

I needed to win this case more than I’d needed to win any case I’d ever fought before. I hit speed dial on an unlisted number as I exited the building. He picked up on the second ring.

“Diego, tell me you have something.”

2

Beulah

“Do I sound like I give a shit? We need to regroup on this!” I half shouted into my cell which was currently crooked into my neck. “They’ve brought us in to win, so we need to make sure our position is airtight. We know who we’re up against, and I have no intention of paying out anything more than absolutely necessary.”

Not to mention Johnson Maynard would likely fire us or murder me in my bed if we did - or rather have someone do it for him, obviously. He paid a fuck load of money to my firm so he didn’t have to pay money anywhere else, including to his soon-to-be-ex-wife of nearly thirty years.

What a stand-up guy, ladies and gentlemen. Johnson Maynard, the most morally bankrupt person I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a few. Represented a few.

Some people might be shocked to know that he wanted to leave his beloved, loyal wife with nothing but the clothes on her back, but I’d conditioned myself a long time ago not to let anyone or anything shock me.

I took another pass with the key card across the pad, and the light finally turned green.

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