Page 45 of Legal Passion
Too much more.
* * *
Hillary stood in the elevator, staring up at the numbers flashing above the doors. Her briefcase hung from her hand. It had never felt as heavy as it did right now with the envelope inside it.
Was she doing the right thing?
Should she have brought it here? Or straight to court?
Her boss had said that he wanted to be notified the minute she got any new evidence. This information would guarantee a conviction. Wilson Tremont would undoubtedly want to present it to the judge himself. He would want the win against Stone Michaelsen on his record, even though Hillary had done all the work.
She hadn’t had anything to do with this, however. The evidence had just dropped into her lap like those bank statements. She didn’t want to win like this.
And most especially, she didn’t want to blindside Stone again.
But was it going to blindside him?
Or did he already know?
He had to know, right?
Byron Mueller was his client. Surely, he would have told Stone everything. The elevator stopped smoothly on the top floor of the building. She had no more time to think, to figure out what was the right thing to do.
The doors slid open. And Hillary wasn’t sure if she was in an office or a penthouse. The floors were hardwood, the walls exposed brick, and the tall windows looked onto the lights of Midtown.
So this was how the other half lived? The half who represented the criminals and killers?
She uttered a soft sigh as she gazed around and she felt a flash of envy. She also felt a flash of empathy for the kid Stone had once been—a child of drug dealers who’d run away to live on the streets.
He’d come a hell of a long way—much farther than she had. She smiled as she thought of the different paths they’d traveled. She’d started out here with a wealthy father who’d tried to give her everything to make up for the untimely death of her young mother. She’d gone to the best boarding schools and colleges.
She’d made connections there, even more than she had through her father. But she’d wanted to make her own way, like Stone. So she’d switched to her mother’s name and lived only off the meager salary she drew from the district attorney’s office. And she was probably just as happy as Stone was here in the penthouse-like luxury offices of Street Legal.
Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she stepped out of the elevator. A guy met her at the glass doors of the lobby. He was stepping out of them while reaching for the security panel next to them, probably to lock them. He glanced up as he saw her.
“Ms. Bellows?”
She was usually good with faces, but she couldn’t quite place his. He had dark hair and a dark complexion. And as he reached out for her hand, she noticed the tattoo peeking out beneath the cuff of his shirtsleeve. He was a former gang member.
One who worked at the after-school program to which she’d sometimes sentenced young offenders back when she’d worked juvenile cases.
“Miguel,” she greeted him. “I didn’t realize you worked here.” They hadn’t talked about themselves, though, just about the kids they’d both been trying to save. His program was the only thing for which she’d ever asked her father for money. He still contributed—more than she did.
He nodded. “Yeah, I go way back with these guys. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
She felt a flash of guilt. “I haven’t worked any juvenile cases in a long time.”
“You’re big time now, huh?”
She would be—once she won this case. And she would win. But she didn’t want to win like this. “I’m not sure what big time is anymore,” she admitted.
“Trying Byron Mueller,” Miguel said. “That’s big time.”
She shrugged.
He pulled the doors open again. “You’re here to see Stone.”
“Is he still here?”
