Page 1 of Salem's Fall
Boston, Massachusetts
October 1 (Four Weeks Until Halloween)
The whooshing of the heater kicks on, startling me as it echoes through the empty halls of Whitehall & Rowe. I’m all alone and still getting accustomed to the solitude. The law firm is usually bustling with the energy of a high-octane circus, but tonight, it feels more like a tomb. Almost everyone else is crammed into a hotel conference room downtown, across from the courthouse, prepping for Monday’s big trial. Normally, I’d be right there with them, mainlining Starbucks and helping the partners prepare their openings, but instead, I’m here in my tiny office, working on a total snoozefest research memo. This is my punishment for failure.
I glance up at the glowing computer screen, my frustration simmering as I angrily peck away at the keyboard.
Top of my class at Harvard Law.
Summa cum laude.
Editor of theLaw Review.
And yet, here I am, writing a ridiculous memo a first-year law student could handle, sidelined from the real work because I missed some stupid forensic report on my last case. There was no real harm done, but one misstep was all it took to gofrom rising star to the firm’s black sheep. Now I’m stuck in junior associate purgatory while one of the biggest white-collar criminal trials of the year is about to start. Charles Brandt, CFO of juggernaut energy company Harborline Energy Corp., is accused of securities fraud. The case made all the papers. Brandt could go away for the rest of his life if he’s found guilty—and my firm is defending him.
Of course we are.
Everyone knows we’re the best criminal defense firm in Boston.
Woodsen is only here because of her looks.
I shake my head, shoving aside the memory of Mark Sharma’s petty insults. Mark is such an asshole. He’d been a complete dick when I’d screwed up a few weeks ago, telling anyone who’d listen that I didn’t belong here. Mark is just a bitter senior associate at the firm who’s been gunning for my failure ever since I turned him down for drinks a few months ago.
I’ve dealt with guys like him my whole life. Because of the way I look, people are always quick to judge me. Underestimate me. I’ve heard it all before: The professors thought I was pretty—that must be why I got good grades. The faculty advisor had a crush on me—that must be why I got the best internships. I slept with hiring partners—that must be how I got my job at the most coveted criminal defense firm in the state.
Of course, none of it was accurate, and it all ignored the real truth: I was smart and worked my ass off. I kept my head down. I didn’t party or drink or do drugs. And I was willing to do whatever it took to succeed,exceptsleep my way to the top.
Still, all they saw was blonde hair and big boobs.
Whatever. Screw ’em.
I pull my focus back to the computer screen, the lines of text blurring as my vision narrows. No, I refuse to be that girl,the one who fades into the background and accepts her fate. I have too much to prove. If they want a research memo, I’m going to write them the best goddamn research memo this firm has ever seen.
Lucky hops onto my work desk, his sleek black fur catching the fluorescent light. It’s ironic, having a black cat and living just miles away from Salem's Fall, a town famous around the world for its witch trials. Growing up in New England, I’d always heard black cats were supposed to be bad luck, but Lucky’s become family ever since I found him in an alley eight years ago. The only family I really have around anymore besides my little sister Madison and my Aunt Aggie.
My cat stretches out, yawning like he’s had the hardest day of all, when he’s pretty much done nothing but gotten two delicious meals, oodles of treats, and countless naps.
“Tough life, kiddo,” I say, chuckling as I scratch behind his ears. “Don’t know how you do it.”
Lucky purrs in response, unfazed. Technically, we aren’t supposed to have pets in the office, but since this is going to be another brutally late night for me—and no one else is here anyway—I figure some rules are meant to be broken.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I groan as I see my little sister’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hey, sis! Guess where I am?”
Madison’s voice is too bright, too bubbly. Loud music pumping in the background tells me all I need to know.
She’s drunk.
“Maddie, you better not be calling me from a bar.”
“C’mon, James. It’s Friday night!”
“And midterms are coming up.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You should be in the library—studying!”
She giggles into the phone. “Well… Iamwith David, the hot guy from my study group I told you about. Doesn’t that count?”
“No.” I rub my temples, one finger poised over the red “End” button. “Mads, I gotta get this memo done. Go home—please!”
