Page 44 of Lion & Lamb

Victor poured himself another extra-large mug of strong black coffee—he was trying to graduate from Diet Coke—and spent an hour doing a deep dive into all things Hughes family.

He skipped the online troll stuff. That was basically useless. Anyone with an internet connection could have an opinion about anything; opinions were as common as hydrogen atoms.

No, what Victor loved were the document trails, the paperwork backdrop of the universe: Legal agreements nobody bothered to read. Direct messages that senders assumed were private. Interoffice memos that meant nothing to most people in the outside world…except Victor, who would put them aside until he found the place where each one fit.

All the information on everyone was out there. Sometimes it was in bits and pieces, like a shredded document. You just needed the mental tape and stamina to put it back together again.

Like the Google Maps search Francine had run on her phone a month ago, directions to a modest building in Center City, Philadelphia.

The address felt random until Victor realized it wasthe office of the city’s top divorce lawyer,Charles “Chuck” Castrina. From there, it took only a few minutes to figure out the full story. Francine Pearl Hughes had officially retained Castrina’s services that very day. Victor’s boss, Cooper Lamb, was going to turn cartwheels.

Victor took another slug of coffee, thinking,Not the same as Diet Coke, not even close,and kept digging.

Now here was something interesting—the people trashing Francine were not the usual online trolls. These were high-end trolls. Online gamblers, mostly high rollers and whales, all of whom were none too pleased about the postponed NFC championship game. They felt like the rules had been changed; this was not the same bet it had been just a few days ago.

Conspiracy theories were abundant. Many centered on the excesses of the Eagles’ father-and-son owners. And quite a lot of them linked Archie Hughes’s murder to someone trying to influence the outcome of the game and, possibly, the Super Bowl. Victor believed some of the theories in these private posts; these were people with real money on the line.

Still, there was no smoking gun—nothing concrete to share with Cooper yet.

But Victor continued to dig. He put on another pot of coffee but made a mental note to restock his minifridge with Diet Coke. He could handle only so much coffee.

Chapter42

12:13 p.m.

“I CANbe there by four,” Cooper told the annoying jerk on the other end of the line.

“As I told you, there are no appointments available today,” said the annoying jerk, who was somehow employed by the top divorce lawyer in the City of Brotherly Love despite being an annoying jerk. “Or for the remainder of the week.”

“And asItold you, this is a professional matter, not a personal one,” Cooper said. “I don’t need a divorce lawyer. I’m already happily divorced.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that there are no appointments available.”

“Tell him it’s Cooper Lamb. Chuck knows me!”

“Chuck knows a lot of people.”

“Do you realize how disrespectful you’re being?”

“I think I’m beingextremelyrespectful of my boss’s time.”

Ordinarily, Cooper Lamb would opt for the dripping-with-honey approach. Kindness and flattery—maybe even a harmless bribe—worked most of the time. But ten seconds into the phone conversation, Cooper had known he was up against a different type of gatekeeper. One who’d been hired because he was a sadist who took great delight in swatting away all potential distractions.

“Let me guess,” Cooper said. “You’re a UPenn grad. You’ve got that Ivy League arrogance about you.”

“Insulting me won’t magically open a time slot.”

“No, but it might make you realize how much you don’t want me showing up uninvited at your office at four p.m.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You catch on quick! Youarea UPenn grad!”

“No, but I am a former Temple running back, and I will happily escort you to the sidewalk if you even dream of showing up here without an appointment. In fact, I hope you do. Then I could skip my evening workout.”

Cooper liked this guy. Of course, the dude was still an annoying jerk. But the ex-jock’s passion for quick, insulting responses was admirable. Few people took such joy in their work. Even fewer threatened physical violence so eagerly.

“Listen, Mr. Temple Owl, I’ve gotta go pick my kids up from school. And they get cranky if I don’t take them for a snack right away. But you’ll be seeing me at four p.m.”

---