Page 21 of The Suit

“You could say that.” I lifted my head before an indentation of the desk formed on it. “The wife’s lawyers won’t give up the notion he has more money, they won’t sign the papers, so they’re just going to end up married forever.”

“Can we go home then? I don’t like New York.”

“You and me both.”

Christ, this was quickly becoming the longest week of my life, and it wasn’t even Friday yet. I still had one more day to go to reach that milestone. Not that it would make a difference, my days were all the same, except Saturdays when I went to the hospital.

My phone rang again, and Blake picked it up before I could reach it.

“Beulah Holmes’ office.” He listened for a second, “Hold please, I’ll see if she’s available.” He pressed a button and whomever was on the other line was now listening to Handel’s Water Music.

“It’s that tall, devilishly handsome and buff lawyer for you. Want to take it?”

I groaned louder than I had before I’d placed Maynard’s call, and held back the string of expletives that lived on the tip of my tongue these days. This was also a conversation I didn’t want to have.

“No,” I replied, but held my hand out for the phone. Blake handed it to me, then switched off the call waiting. “Beulah Holmes.”

“Holmes, it’s Rafe Latham. I’m calling to let you know we won’t be budging on our decision not to sign until a proper offer is made. I assume you’ve spoken to your client already.”

“I have.”

There was silence while he waited for me to continue with my response to his leading question, something I had no intention of doing.

“Fuck’s sake, Beulah. I don’t want to be talking to you any more than you want to be talking to me, but this would go a lot quicker if you weren’t so fucking obtuse,” he snapped. “What did that ogre say?”

I wanted to snap back, retort that he’d only asked me if I’d spoken to my client and I wasn’t being obtuse. But I was, and I suddenly had no energy to argue. The last two hours had sucked me dry.

“He said he’s not going above his offer. Twenty million and the house,” I sighed, resignedly. “Latham, do yourself a favor and please get your client to accept it. You won’t get a better offer. Just end this, please.”

I swear I heard a tut of disappointment from his end before he spoke again. “No can do, Holmes. You’ve got until the end of the day to come back to us, so I guess we’ll be speaking again.”

He hung up.

Raferty Latham waiting for me to call him, never thought that day would come. He’d be waiting a while. We wouldn’t be speaking again.

5

Rafe

“Hey, Pa, how are you?” I grinned at my father as he exited the tennis courts and started walking over the manicured lawns at the back of the house toward me, sweatband round his head with a racket slung over his shoulder like he was John McEnroe.

Despite his current appearance, Cash Latham was one of the greatest lawyers of his generation. Still was of the current generation. His command of the courtroom and ability to wend the jury to his will was a skill no other attorney had demonstrated before. He’d graduated top of his class at Harvard Law, like me, and taken the expected position at my grandfather’s firm, where he proceeded to work his ass off, also like me. My grandfather had built a solid law firm in his youth, but my father had turned it into a monster - a global beast of legal minds.

I remember that as kids, whenever my three siblings and I wanted to see him, we knew he’d be in his study. But no matter how busy he was, he always had time to give us a hug and listen to whatever school project we’d been working on. Then he’d send us on our way once we’d listed the amendments to the constitution, backwards.

Which was why I could recite the constitution when I was three. And why Beulah Holmes could never beat my grade in Constitutional Law, no matter how hard she tried.

I might not have seen him a huge amount when I was a kid, but I never felt like I was lacking in his love. Unfortunately for the four of us, our mother did. Which is why she divorced him, twice.

But according to him, she was still the love of his life, even if he had started a new hobby of marrying women younger than I was. He hadn’t yet married anyone younger than my baby brother, Rory, however, but there was still time for that seeing as his current wife seemed to be coming to the end of her desire to partake in their marriage; and of her patience with his constant flitting around, inability to sit still, and continued adoration for his first wife.

Like our father before us, my two older sisters - Blaine and Amory - and I had all graduated top of the class from Harvard Law. Rory was still studying, although it was perfectly obvious to everyone he was merely taking law to humor my father and carry on the tradition, when all he really wanted to do was play football and cause havoc.

Blaine and Amory had both gone to work for my father, as did I, but when he’d retired a few years ago and they moved up to joint managing partners, I’d already jumped into my own firm.

“Raferty my boy, how are you?” My dad netted me in of his trademark, bear -sized embraces. It brimmed with love, and always made me feel like a little boy again; it was one of the best parts of seeing my dad, even if this one was slightly sweaty

“I’m good, Dad, thanks.” I patted him on the back, then kissed his cheek as he released me, but kept his arm slung over my shoulder with ease. With both of us standing at six foot four, it wasn’t often someone could put their arm around me without it feeling off balance. “How’s Celia?”

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