Page 22 of The Suit

“Oh, you know, off spending my money somewhere. She’s gone to the Palm Springs house; I’ll probably end up giving it to her in the divorce.” He sighed dramatically and I once again gave a silent thanks that I’d drafted the pre-nup. I collected fast cars, which was inordinately expensive, but compared to my dad’s hobby, it was cheap.

“You’re divorcing her then?”

“Oh probably.” He waved his hand around indifferently, “sooner rather than later. How’s your mother?”

“She’s good, Dad.”

“Good, good. Fantastic woman, your mother.” He drifted off as he did every time he thought of my mom. “Anyway, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

As well as being my dad, he was also my mentor. Everything I’d learned in law, I’d learned because of him. I knew growing up what a privilege it had been to have unfettered access to his brilliance, and I never took it for granted. I listened, I watched, I learned.

“I need your advice with something.”

I was just about to delve into the issues I was having when we heard a screech coming from the house, followed by a small ball of white tearing across the grass toward us, hands in the air - which turned out to be my father’s housekeeper, Mary.

“Mr. Raferty, I didn’t see you arrive! You should have told me you were coming.”

I leaned down to kiss her cheek, “Hello, Mary.”

Mary had been with our family since before Blaine had been born. She’d seen us through all the family drama, my parents’ arguments, both divorces and at this point was more a part of the furniture than anything else. After the second divorce my mother had insisted Mary go with my father, lest he not survive by himself, which was probably a blessing as the first time around she was listed in the division of the assets.

“Sir, I’ve set you up with morning drinks on the terrace. Mr. Raferty, I’ll bring some juice out for you.”

I smiled at her. It didn’t matter that I was now thirty-one, I still got the blackcurrant juice I’d loved as a kid. “Thank you, Mary.”

She ran back off into the house while my father and I took seats on the huge loungers facing out to the lawns. In the distance to the side of the tennis courts, I could see the vast pool and pool house the boys and I had held many a party in during our weekend trips here when my dad was out of town.

“Dad, what is that?” I pointed to a large glass of moss green liquid. Seeing as the man lived on steak, I had no idea what business it had being in any vicinity of us.

“It’s green juice. Celia has me on it. Says it’s the key to a longer life.” He slurped it like he enjoyed it, while I looked on in shock.

“Yeah, because she’s not in the will.”

I watched as he swallowed a mouthful without gagging, then placed the glass on the table.

“Come on then, out with it.”

I sat back with a sigh, my arm resting on the outer edge of the lounger. “You know I’m working this case for mom, opposing Johnson Maynard in his divorce?”

“Yes. That man belongs in prison.”

“He does. Anyway, the financials that came back said he’s only worth forty or fifty mil and I can’t find anything that says otherwise. I have my investigators on it, but so far they’ve said that there’s no trace of impropriety, but there’s also no evidence within the firm either.”

He was just about to answer when his face lit up in amusement.

“Oh ho, is this the case opposite that young whippersnapper from Harvard who used to give you a run for your money?”

I met his amusement with an expression of my own; shock.

“How interesting she’s resurfaced,” he grinned. My father’s memory was sharper than the point on those heels Beulah was wearing yesterday. He never forgot a thing.

“How did you know?” But I already knew the answer, and I vowed to find out which one of my ex-best friends had tattled, then cause them considerable pain.

One evening when I’d been at college my father came to meet me and he’d taken the three of us to dinner. Beulah had been in a particularly feisty mood that day; I’d ordered the most expensive whiskey on the menu and downed it in one, then ordered another before I had time to register the scorching in my throat. The great Cash Latham in his usuallaissez-fairestyle merely raised an eyebrow. While I was drinkingaway my annoyance, Penn and Murray had explained the situation with Beulah, along with their idiotic theory, at which point I lodged a heartfelt and very loud objection. However, because my father was my father he insisted that I argued my case against the boys. Which I did.

I argued that she was devil spawn sent to fuck with me, torment my days so I couldn’t study in peace, that she nipped at the heels of every argument, every paper I turned in, and every grade I received. I argued there was no way anything would ever happen between us because the only thing we agreed on was our mutual loathing; to even be around each other for longer than the course required was too long, so it would be impossible to physically fuck her because that required contact. Not to mention it would be equally as hard to tear her away from her studying.

I argued concisely, and well… in my opinion.

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