Page 15 of A Legal Affair
She shrugged, filling Tupperware containers with food. “I think something about me sets off Caleb’s Spidey senses.”
“What do you mean? What did you do?”
“Nothing, really. I just…I don’t know. We were talking at the library and I was trying to feel him out, trying to get him comfortable discussing his former life as a defense attorney. Because that’s a good place to start, right? If there are any skeletons to be found, learning more about his time at the law firm could point us to where the bodies are buried.”
Kenneth nodded. “Exactly.”
“Right. But the thing is, he’s super guarded, like you guys warned me. He doesn’t open up very easily, and he has this way of looking at you…like he can see right into your?—”
“—soul?” Kenneth rolled his eyes. “He’s dreamy and intense. I get it.”
Her face flushed. “I just worry that I’m going to say the wrong thing and blow my cover.”
“That’s because you’re thinking too hard. Just try to relax and go with the flow.”
“Easy foryouto say. You’re not the one playing cat-and-mouse with a scarily brilliant legal scholar.” Daniela snapped the lid on a container filled with mac and cheese, mulling something over in her mind.
“What now?” Kenneth prodded, sounding wary.
“Nothing. I’m just thinking about a question I asked him.” She looked at her brother. “As a former police officer, how do you feel about the fact that Caleb had a policy against representing crooked cops? Like, his rogues’ gallery of clients included murderers and embezzlers. But he drew a line in the sand when it came to defending dirty cops.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Pretty much.”
Her brother nodded slowly. “It’s true. He believed that public servants should be held to higher standards. He loathed police officers who abused their power and violated the public’s trust.” Looking down at the marble counter, Kenneth traced a golden vein with his index finger. “I remember one particular case, back when I worked in Internal Affairs. There was this cop. Lem Conklin. He was dirty, no question about it. There’d been several citizen complaints about excessive force, and he was already under investigation at the time he killed Jahmir Drayton. It was a bad shooting. Anyone who saw the video could tell that the kid was unarmed, defenseless and clearly terrified.” Kenneth’sjaw tightened at the memory. “You probably don’t remember the case that well because you were studying abroad that summer in Madrid. It was a big local story, but it never made national headlines.”
“I remember,” Daniela murmured. “Not all the specific details, but I remember enough. I was surprised—and thrilled—when Conklin got life without parole.”
Kenneth nodded. “There was a window, several years ago, where the tide seemed to be turning, and more and more dirty cops were being held accountable for their actions. The facts weren’t on Conklin’s side. He was going down for murder, and everyone knew it. The police union wanted Caleb Thorne to represent him. Even though Thorne had only been practicing law for three years, he was already making a name for himself. Being Crandall Thorne’s son certainly didn’t hurt, of course. The union hoped the optics would play well with the jury: a handsome, brilliant, charismatic black man who was around the same age as the victim, who was willing to reject racial solidarity to defend the white man who’d taken Jahmir Drayton’s life. It would have sent a powerful message, good or bad. And like I said before, Thorne was a menace in the courtroom. He regularly had female jurors eating out of the palm of his hand—half the men, too. The union threw obscene amounts of money at him to take the case. A senator reached out to Crandall Thorne’s senior law partners, trying to use his political clout to force Caleb’s hand. Hell, even the POTUS himself put in a secret call. But nothing worked. Caleb wouldn’t budge. He wanted nothing to do with the case, and he was unmoved by bribes or threats. He actually visited Conklin in prison to personally inform him of his decision. Every cop in the city has seen the footage of him telling Conklin to his face to burn in fucking hell. As if that wasn’t gangsta enough, after he delivered his message, he calmly stood up, adjusted his shirt cuffs, winked at Conklin and thensauntered out the door with no fucks to give.” Kenneth’s chuckle was tinged with admiration.
“Wow,” Daniela said softly. If she wasn’t already impressed with Caleb Thorne, she definitely was now. “A man of conviction.”
“You could say that.” Her brother’s eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening his gaze. “You can’t fall for this guy, El. That’s not part of the deal.”
“I know that, Kenny. You think I don’t know that?”
He frowned at her. He didn’t look convinced.
She dragged her hands through her hair and screwed her eyes shut. “I just…I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”
“You are,” Kenneth said forcefully.
“Maybe, maybe not.” She let out a deep, world-weary breath. “It’s been a long day. Can you just?—”
Kenneth straightened from the counter and came over to her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he peered into her eyes. “I know it’s a lot to ask, kiddo, but you can do this. Just stay calm and focused. Keep your eyes on the goal.” He paused, his gaze softening. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but when I showed up tonight, Mom was looking through that old brochure again. You know the brochure I’m talking about. The one she keeps in her nightstand drawer, the one from that custom ranch builder. She looked sad, like she’d been crying or was about to. She put the brochure away as soon as she saw me, of course. When she offered to fix me dinner, I accepted because she obviously needed a distraction, and feeding her family has always brought her joy.” Kenneth gently squeezed Daniela’s shoulders. “Anytime you start getting cold feet, just remember who and what we’re doing this for.”
Daniela swallowed a hard lump and nodded. “I will.”
“Good.” A sudden calculating gleam entered her brother’s eyes. “So…about that leather miniskirt?—”
Daniela shoved a stack of hot Tupperware containers against his chest, making him grunt in surprise.
With stinging sweetness, she said, “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out,kiddo.”
After Kenneth left, grumbling under his breath about uncooperative brats, Daniela put away the remaining leftovers and cleaned the kitchen. When she was finished, she poured herself a glass of pinot grigio, settled down at the table with her phone and began scrolling through social media. She’d made all her accounts private and deleted her profile pictures to hide her digital footprint from Caleb. If he ever felt compelled to look her up, all he’d find was a fake Instagram account with carefully staged photos bolstered by bought likes and comments.
Sipping her wine, Daniela paused on the newest post by her cousin Kennedi, who’d shared photos from her recent summer trip to the Seychelles, Mauritius and Tanzania. She’d traveled with her mother, Phyllis, who was Pamela Roarke’s divorced sister. When the two women were growing up, they thought it would be cute to give their firstborn children similar names. Kennedi was supposed to be the feminine derivative of Kenneth.
