The Mentor

by Rebecca Forster

  “No, he won’t be prejudiced,” Lauren answered carefully. “Judge Caufeld is the most ethical man I know.”

  “Yes, we’re well aware of that in this office,” Abram muttered, then looked her in the eye. “Do you foresee a problem with your performance, then?”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head with certainty.

  “Perhaps you might even be able to give a hundred and ten percent for the man who taught you so much?”

  “I give a hundred and ten percent no matter what and I work for you, Abram, not Judge Caufeld,” Lauren said flatly. Edie made a noise at such self-aggrandization. Lauren shot her a look, undaunted by the editorial.

  Abram breathed deeply, “Yes, you always give your best, Lauren. Knowing that, I’ve made an administrative decision. Publicly, I’d like Lauren to handle this case, as lead attorney.” Immediately he swung his head toward Edie and looked her straight in the eye. “You will, of course, be there to assist in your usual capacity, but you will not be designated first seat.”

  There was a beat when nothing happened. Lauren stared at Abram. If she cast an eye on Edie Williams she would certainly turn Lauren into a pillar of salt, and Lauren wouldn’t blame her for it one bit.

  “Like hell I will,” Edie breathed, and the office turned cold.

  “I don’t know that I’m ready for that.” Lauren made an appropriate gesture to appease Edie or from shock, she had no idea. “Our strategy is set and, now that Judge Caufeld will be handling the case, I’ll have to work harder than ever to argue on the Readmore stop. We’ll both have our hands full. Edie understands the underpinnings—”

  “I don’t need your qualification.” Edie was on the edge of her seat.

  “I don’t need your resentment,” Lauren snapped back without thinking. The two women looked at one another. Sudden adversaries, they were surprised to find the line between them when moments ago they had stood on the same side of it.

  “And I won’t change my mind,” Abram said sharply. Now he had their attention and it pleased him. “Is that the way it is then, ladies? What a pity. I thought you were both above this kind of female thing.”

  “Don’t patronize either of us, Abram.” Edie stuck an elbow on the arm of her chair and raised her hand as if ready to catch whatever he threw her way. Slowly she eased back in her seat and half turned her head toward Lauren. “And you don’t need to speak for me.”

  “You’re right. I’ll speak for myself.” She’d been to hell and back in her personal life. A miffed Edie Williams didn’t come close to the devils Lauren had lived with. “I’ll be happy to try this case. I was doing my best to be politic, but I am ready, and I’ll win. Thank you, Abram, for the chance to prove myself. I’m sure I’ll be able to handle...”

  “Yes,” he cut her off, not a real fan of Lauren’s glibness, “I’m sure you will.”

  He shifted in his chair, though he was far from uncomfortable with this exchange. Getting hackles up only made lawyers that much more effective. Lauren would have something to prove not only to Wilson Caufeld but to Edie Williams, too. Whose admiration, he wondered, would the young prosecutor consider the greater prize?

  “Will you forgive us, Lauren,” Abram said quietly, sorry to see that neither of them was onto his thinking. “Edie, if you’ll stay please.”

  Lauren hesitated. Whatever was going to happen would affect her. She should insist on staying, but Abram spoke to her profile and changed her mind for her. “Remember, Lauren, you were already quite effective with Judge Lee. Let’s see the same energy in front of Judge Caufeld. Edie will be down soon to start working with you on the rest. I assume you’ll be open to her counsel?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will. How long do you think we’ll be, Edie?” Lauren had been dismissed.

  “Not long, Abram.”

  The dynamic had changed. Lauren was neither needed nor wanted. This was personal and the silence she left behind lasted only long enough for her to close the door.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Edie asked quietly. Abram didn’t have to hear. Her fury was written all over her face and etched in every muscle of her body. Abram tented his fingers and tapped them against his lips.

  “There are times, Edie, when you still surprise me.”

  “Why? Because I want what’s mine? I don’t know why that should surprise you. You’re the one who invented the concept.”

  “There’s a difference. You only think this case was yours. As the U.S. Attorney, it’s mine, Edie, and I have a larger picture to consider than how you feel.”

  She stood up, so taut a good wind could snap her in two. Abram gave her her head. She paced, her words keeping time with her gait.

  “I don’t want to hear that nonsense. What I don’t understand, Abram, is how you can do this to me?” She twirled. “No, how dare you do this to me? How dare you?”

  Edie took a deep breath through her nose and shook her hair back. She couldn’t look at him. He would see the hurt and, damn, there was a lot to see. She stopped by the window, wondering why she put up with this. Any firm in the city would have her at three times her salary, but any firm wouldn’t do. This was where she was meant to be. This case was hers and, with that thought, control was back.

  “First,” she said evenly, “explain why you took me off this case, and second, why you felt the need to do it in front of Lauren.”

  “You’ve been around long enough. Take a wild guess.”

  “You think Caufeld will give her special treatment on this?” Edie was incredulous.

  “Wilson Caufeld would never do that,” Abram countered, disappointed at such a pedestrian answer. “He’s too above board. There’s too much to lose now that he’s nominated.”

  “Then he should never have accepted the case in the first place,” Edie snapped.

  Abram sighed at such absurdity, “Don’t be ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly turn it down. The ramifications would be overt and covert. People would see him as weak, unable to handle the rigors of the Supreme Court if he couldn’t take on what he was assigned at home. Caufeld has always held himself apart from the politics, so he wouldn’t refuse the trial for fear of suddenly seeming political himself. No, no, Edie, don’t even think he might decline on that basis.”

  “Then you think he’ll recuse himself because of Lauren? Is that your strategy?”

  “Please, Edie,” Abram responded. “We simply have an opportunity here that we can’t ignore because it is a certainty Wilson Caufeld will judge the Stewarts.” Abram was excited by his own thought process. “Did you know, for instance, that Wilson Caufeld is Lauren Kingsley’s surrogate parent? He probated her mother’s will, saw to her schooling, he practically raised the woman. There is a bond there that goes beyond any oath Caufeld could ever take. I doubt even he is aware how strong it is. I’m counting on that subliminal desire to see his protégé—his daughter by proxy if you will—succeed.”

  Edie grasped the back of a chair. She needed support if she was going to listen to such nonsense.

  “Abram, this is so rich. You, of all people, counting on an emotional tie between an old man and a neophyte attorney in braids. We’re facing one of the most media-sensitive trials we’ve had in a long time and this is how you handle it? Please tell me this isn’t true. I want you to call her back.”

  His smile was gone. Abram was pulling rank.

  “I’m sorry, Edie, but it’s not just Caufeld. Lauren understands him, and she’ll use that knowledge to play to his weaknesses and her strengths.”

  “She could do that as second seat,” Edie scoffed. “What about when push comes to shove? Will Lauren make him look like a fool if she needs to? Will she fight with him?”

  “Who knows, Edie? But I’d bet with Lauren out front, Wilson Caufeld will see this thing through expeditiously. He won’t want to give her anymore time than necessary to do what she has to for fear she’ll fail. He wants this case off the books as soon as p
ossible with an outcome that will make him look good. Favoring the prosecution is what he should do. He can then sit in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee crowned with laurels.”

  “And what about me?” Edie rubbed her bare arms.

  “What about you?” Abram asked, eyes widening.

  “What about what I want and need?” she insisted, sure he would understand but all she got was a blank look.

  “Well, Edie, I would suggest that’s up to you.” Abram opened his hands as if to show her there were no tricks up his sleeve. Then it dawned on him. He saw it in the twitch of her jaw, the faint shading of disappointment in her eyes, the shaking of her fingers still wrapped over the back of the chair. “Oh, Edie, what is it you thought? That I was going to take care of you? Edie, what on earth gave you such an idea?”

  “You did,” she whispered. “You hired me. You gave me the big cases. You promoted me. You’ve always made the way for me, Abram.” Her fingers kept tune with her lament. Edie felt sick knowing that, once again, she was about to find out she had never really been a factor in life’s big equation.

  “I did all those things, Edie, because you were the best person for the job, nothing more. Edie, Edie.” He laughed with honest amazement. “I’m sorry if you thought there was something more. No, no. Not at all. I don’t believe in mentoring. The process is never quite fair. I would give too much, or you would take too much; I wouldn’t give enough, you would flounder because of it and make me look bad. And, if a protégé surpasses a mentor? My, but there’s a pickle.”

  Abram licked his lips. Perhaps he should have sensed this dependency in her, but he hadn’t. That Edie had such professionally intimate expectations was a revelation, indeed. Edie, of all people.

  “There always comes a day, Edie, when the teacher is taken advantage of by the student. Worse, there comes a time when the teacher fears the student. I fear no one because I am beholden to no one. I trust you because I’ve assumed you felt the same way. Your talent and determination allowed you to excel. That is the highest praise I can give you. That and assigning you to high-profile work within my power or my pleasure.”

  Abram sighed. He hadn’t thought Edie would have been so full of anger. But now that he looked back, he could see so many little things that should have given him a clue. Her tension probably took root the minute Lauren Kingsley was hired. A pretty little thing with a big mind and the recklessness to say what was on it. A young woman with connections. A young woman whom Allan Lassiter held in great esteem. All the things Edie didn’t have, Lauren did. But Abram would have been wrong in that assumption. Lauren wasn’t the thorn in Edie’s side. It was damnable Fate.

  “I have my objectives,” Abram went on, “and I assume you have yours. Do what you must to meet them, and I’ll stand behind you. I would suggest it would be to your benefit to stand behind me, but that’s your decision. Mine is to make sure that Lauren Kingsley tries this case. Put whatever spin you want on your participation. You may call yourself anything you like, but you will second-seat this. If Lauren says she believes something is the right way, you will find out the bearing it has on Caufeld. Believe me, Edie, Lauren has an agenda, too, whether she knows it or not. If she doesn’t, then I’ve sorely misjudged her. Now, my decision is made. Take it, leave it, or get out of the way. That’s what I want. That’s what will be done.”

  Abram picked up the phone. So much could happen between now and the time the Stewart case was finished that to carry on this conversation was a waste of time. Caufeld could be confirmed, Abram appointed to a district judgeship and Edie appointed the U.S. Attorney. He doubted any of it would happen in such a short span of time, but stranger things had happened. If and when Edie sat in his chair, she could make her own assignments. For now, the discussion was simply over.

  Edie dipped her head as a sign of acceptance, not agreement. It was her only option. She had thought him more loyal. She had thought Abram was her undeclared champion. To find out differently meant a change in strategy.

  Edie left Abram to his calls, his networking, his schemes, whatever it was that Abram did when he was alone. There was nothing more to learn from him, now she had to put that knowledge to work. First step: make sure she looked good no matter what Lauren did. Second step: find the only one who could still help her get what she wanted.

  Edie was so lost in thought as she stormed down the long, undistinguished halls of the office that she barely noticed the man coming toward her until they turned toward Lauren’s office simultaneously.

  Edie glared.

  The man smiled politely. “Lauren Kingsley?”

  “No,” Edie said flatly.

  “I meant is this her office?” he said.

  Edie pointed to the nameplate as if he’d put her out royally.

  “I’ll leave her a note then she’s all yours.”

  “Thanks.” He stood easily in the doorway until Edie was finished at the desk.

  He stepped aside to let her pass then brushed at the sleeve of his jacket where she had rubbed up against him before he could move. He half expected to find fabric singed, which would have been a pity. It was one of two jackets in his closet that came close to bureau dress standards. Leaning back, he checked the hallway, stepped into Lauren Kingsley’s office, and took a seat. He was a patient man and innately curious, so his mind worked while he sat.

  The picture on her desk was familiar. Though he’d never met Marta Kingsley, he’d seen her photo a number of times way back when. Her face had been splashed all over the papers for a solid week until the story fizzled out. Then it was as if she’d never existed. There were other things to write about in those days, other people’s lives to look into.

  He looked up. Nothing on the ceiling. Government types in the old days were fun. They decorated the ceilings, since wall space was covered with trial strategy charts, calendars, and notes. On the ceiling he’d seen mug shots of the bad guys, happy faces, moon shots—and he wasn’t talking the celestial kind—bar scores and bullseyes up there. Luckily, he’d never looked up to find the dart hanging above his head. Kingsley’s ceiling was clean, as were the walls except for a chart outlining opening arguments on the Stewart trial.

  He leaned forward to look, interested but hardly seduced by the intricate planning. He knew where his talent lay, and it wasn’t in crime investigation. His was a more delicate calling. He reached down to tie his suede bucks, black and brown for this occasion. He gave them a little buff.

  “Can I help you?”

  Hips came into view and then passed out of sight again. He had an image of inky black worsted cut with a gray pin stripe, of a fine body under designer trousers. He sat back and focused. Those clothes fit well. The body was definitely worth imagining underneath them. Tight and tiny. His eyes went up. The face was interesting and pretty. Very pretty. It carried an expression of fatigue, perhaps worry. It hadn’t been a good day for the lady, and he was so very, very sorry.

  4

  “Lauren Kingsley?”

  “Yep.” Lauren pushed a box of files out the way with her foot and dropped her books with a thud on the only free space on her desk. She put her hands on them. No rings. Short nails. Small hands. The books were the bibles: Title 18, the criminal code, and The Federal Rules of Evidence.

  “Eli Warner,” he said.

  Eli stood up and put out his hand. She took it briefly. Eli sat back down without a clear idea of whether or not it was enjoyable to shake hers. He had a card ready and put it on top of the books, sliding it just under her fingers. She frowned. This, he decided, was not a playful person. He flipped out his credential. That seemed to make things worse.

  “What’d you bring me? I hope it’s the wiretap transcripts. You guys have been dragging your feet and we’ve been reassigned to Caufeld. Knowing him, he’s going to cut this thing down to weeks instead of months, so I need whatever you’ve got like yesterday.”

  Lauren plopped herself in her chair. It rocked precariously. Eli guessed there was a wad of
paper stuck under a leg somewhere. She rode it out well.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have what you’re looking for.” He raised a finger heavenward then cocked it toward her. “Want me to look at that chair?”

  “No.” Lauren screwed up her face. “If you don’t have my transcripts then you better have something else I can use. I’ll call the engineers for the chair. You bureau guys should learn to stay on topic.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the tip,” Eli said amiably and that seemed to peeve his hostess.

  “Well, what’ve you got?”

  Lauren leaned forward. When she found she couldn’t really see him past the stack of reference books and files she pushed them aside. It would make her happier if she didn’t have to see him at all. FBI agents were all alike. In a suit, or cords or a paper bag they couldn’t hide their spots. They were arrogant. They could do anything better than anyone else and when they were wrong, they never admitted it. Lauren shook her head. It was getting hot in the office, or at least under her collar.

  “Actually, I haven’t got anything,” Eli said. “I came hoping to get something. Information on Wilson Caufeld.”

  “Then look somewhere else.” Lauren took the top book off the stack and slammed it onto her desk. “You guys don’t have to strategize about this. I’ll call you to the stand, you tell the truth. Period. Don’t try to second-guess the judge, for God’s sake,” she said then mumbled to herself, “I think that’s supposed to be my job.” Finding her center again, she instructed him. “I just want you to work up the case. There’s no need for you to know, or do, anything else.”

  She dismissed him but he didn’t budge. In fact, he was still smiling.

  “Stress can kill, did you know that?” Eli dug in his pocket “M&M’s? They’ll give you something good to think about.”