Counsel (Counsel #1)

by Shenda Paul

  It takes me moments to uncrumple the note, which simply reads, A. White. "Well, Ms. White…you’ll be hearing from me," I mutter, incensed anew; by her audacity and my inability to stop a woman half my size from getting away. I’m still bristling with irritation by the time I enter Ian’s.

  "What took you so long?" Matt asks as I sit beside him.

  "I don’t want to discuss it," I answer tersely, raising my hand to gain the attention of a server. When I’ve ordered a drink for myself and everyone else at the table, I turn to greet Tess, Lana, Alan and Ian who owns the pub.

  Tess, whose name is actually Teresa, and her best friend, Lana, grew up in our neighborhood. They have each, at some stage, dated Matt, Alan and Ian. Tess and Ian had an on again-off again relationship spanning many years, and she may well have dated Alan and Matt to get back at him for some perceived or real slight. Lana remains what she likes to call a ‘free spirit’ and dates prolifically.

  Their dating merry-go-round had, at times, caused conflict and tension, but our friendships have endured. Both showed interest in me, but I haven’t dated either. I viewed them then, as I do now, purely as friends. Lana easily accepted my disinterest, but Tess, who joined the DA’s office almost two years ago, continues to push periodically like she did today.

  Our group, as we always do when getting together, soon settles into animated conversation and friendly banter. The night turns out to be just what I needed after the grueling weeks of trial and then, of course, the altercations with Jaclyn and that damned runaway. The pub’s all but emptied of patrons by the time we’re ready to leave. Alan opts to stay over at Ian’s apartment above the pub and drive home in the morning. As always when driving, I limited myself to two drinks, so after seeing Tess and Lana into a cab, I offer to drop Matt off.

  Arriving home just after two a.m., I find a light still on in our bedroom. I curse silently; I’d hoped to do this after having had some sleep. Jaclyn’s sitting up in bed and wearing a low-cut negligee. I recognize her two-pronged attack immediately; recriminations followed by sex as a reward for me showing suitable contrition. I chide myself with the thought that it worked in the past only because I allowed it to.

  "I’m surprised you’re still awake," I say by way of greeting.

  "I told you we needed to talk, Adam. I tried calling, but your phone’s been turned off as usual."

  "And I told you it would have to wait. I turned my phone off because I didn’t want my evening interrupted."

  "What if someone needed to contact you?"

  "Everyone who matters knew where I was. They could have called the pub."

  "Well, I wouldn’t deign to call there!"

  "Why would you consider calling Ian’s beneath you?"

  "I’ve told you I can’t stand those people. They hold you back."

  I swear I feel a tiny explosion go off in my brain at her blatant contempt. She'd like me to forget my friends and where I come from, and despite their education and success, she probably feels the same way about my parents and sister. The only difference between them and me in her eyes, I realize, is her belief in my potential for greater things.

  "My friends have never held me back," I say, barely containing my anger.

  "People are talking about you becoming DA, possibly running for political office one day, Adam. Do you really think those people will help you get there?"

  "Those people?"

  "Those people," she says, not even trying to mask her disdain.

  "They’re my people, and I would never try to hide that fact."

  "Adam…"

  "Jaclyn, this isn’t going to work."

  "What do you mean?" Suddenly nervous, she scrambles out of bed.

  "I should never have agreed to you moving in," I say, carefully removing her arms from my neck.

  "Perhaps I’ve been too harsh, but would you at least consider what I’ve said? " she offers, her tone conciliatory. "You’re so reluctant to go out into society…"

  "My friends are part of society." I step back as she tries to wrap her arms around my waist.

  "I mean people who influence things, who matter."

  "Everyone matters, don’t you get that? That’s why I do what I do." I will myself to remain calm. "Look, I’m sorry, this is my fault. I should never have allowed this to become something more. I’m going to sleep in the guest room; I suggest you move back in with your sister tomorrow," I tell her before turning away.

  "Don’t do this, Adam. We’re good together."

  "That’s just the thing, Jaclyn, we’re not and never will be, and if you’re honest, you’ll admit I’m not really what you want."

  "You are … and I thought you wanted me? I love you…" she claims, bringing us to the crux of the matter.

  "I’m sorry, Jaclyn, but I don’t," I say, softening my tone. She looks crestfallen, and I’m filled with contrition. It’s my ambivalence that’s brought us to this point.

  "Call your sister in the morning, please," I tell her with gentle determination before leaving and shutting the bedroom door behind me.

  Her sister, Anne, turns up around seven that morning to help move her things out. I offer to help, but Jaclyn rebuffs me with a cold, "no thanks," as they each lug a large suitcase down the stairs. Anne glares at me venomously. I ignore her; she’s an even greater snob than her sister.

  I do the least I can, under the circumstances, and hold the door for them. "Be happy, Jaclyn," I wish her to no response.

  I feel an overwhelming sense of relief at her departure and make a mental note to ask Mom to arrange for the master suite to be redecorated. I want to reclaim every part of my home, especially the bedroom and living areas where Jaclyn spent most of her time.

  .

  .

  Just before seven-thirty, Tess sends me a text telling me to turn on the news. I realize, as I listen to the newscaster, just why she contacted me.

  "VOXP has uncovered details of an investigation into an alleged drug and sex ring operating right under the noses of our authorities. The syndicate, reportedly one of long standing, is said to involve some very prominent Bostonians, including Senator Justin Wade who, it is alleged, is associated with a high-end escort agency implicated in the investigation. Senator Wade, the youngest and, arguably, the most popular member of the Massachusetts Senate, is part of a powerful political dynasty dating back generations. He could, if allegations prove to be correct, find himself responsible for our biggest political scandal of recent times.

  "The police commissioner and the senator’s office have yet to comment on the matter. VOXP will keep abreast of developments and will, as always, be first to bring you the news."

  I’m still grappling with the implications of the news report when Tess calls to say the jury in the Jenkins case is in.

  Samantha Jenkins is found guilty of first-degree murder. She’s yet to be sentenced, but I have little doubt that she’ll end up serving a life sentence.

  Chapter Two

  We return from court to find the office abuzz with speculation about the newscast. Every prosecutor hopes the report proves accurate and is, no doubt, chomping at the bit to be appointed to the case. A case of this magnitude is bound to gain national attention and successfully prosecuting it would significantly boost the reputations and careers of those involved.

  I’ve yet to come to terms with the possible involvement of a friend and, given my time in court, haven't really had the time to think about it, let alone consider the possibility of working on the case. Justin Wade and I were close friends in college; well, as close as our differences allowed, but we had once been friends. I hope for the sake of his ambitions and our past association that allegations of his involvement prove false.

  "Thorne!" Gerard Beazley, our DA, calls out from my doorway later that day. He's a large man whose once-dark hair is graying at the temples, hardly surprising given that our office handles over fifty thousand
criminal cases each year.

  Bill Watts, his second in command, manages the day-to-day running of the office and prosecutes one or more of the high-profile cases. But it’s Gerard Beazley we look up to. Every prosecutor in this office strives to emulate his stellar career. The DA’s earned the fond nickname of Bristly, a reference to his expressive, bushy eyebrows.

  "Good work on the Jenkins case, come and see me at three," he instructs and then leaves abruptly. I'm accustomed to his brusque manner, so I return to what I’d been doing without being overly concerned. By lunchtime, my backlog of paperwork hasn’t diminished nearly enough, so I decide to grab something from the local deli and work through. I've only just returned when my phone rings.

  I smile as I note the caller’s identity. "Hello, darling. I’ve given up waiting on you to call," Mom says when I answer. My smile widens at her teasing tone. I love my adoptive mother, Emma, dearly. She’d been our social worker, and when Eleanor was found dead from a drug overdose, the police contacted Mom whose name had, thankfully, been added as my emergency contact at school. Refusing to place me into the system, she took me home with her instead.

  She and her husband, Callum, almost immediately applied to foster me. When that was granted, they petitioned to adopt me. Without Mom having taken such a close interest in our case and caring about me, I might not have made it out of the system unscathed. I’ve certainly come a long way from the rundown part of Boston where I spent the first seven years of my life. My home, now, is a former commercial building in the Back Bay district, bordering the area where I once lived. The building, which formerly housed a library and later a rundown art gallery, stands at the end of a street of Victorian brownstone homes.

  I had the property converted into two residences after purchasing and transferred the second title to my sister, Caitlin. I’ve renovated my half of the cavernous building into a home for myself, but Cait and Matt have yet to decide what they want to do with hers. My greatest wish is that they convert it into a home for themselves.

  People constantly speculate about the source of my wealth, and to those who don’t truly know me, I’m the successful, millionaire prosecutor, darling of the media and social set. They couldn’t be more wrong in their assessment of me because none of those things, with the notable exception of my career as a prosecutor, matter to me. At my core, I remain the once poor boy rescued from the hell of his early childhood by the angel now on the phone.

  "Sorry, Mom, I've just been so busy with the Jenkins trial, but I plan to visit soon," I apologize.

  "You'd better, darling. In fact, I'm going to insist that you and Jaclyn come to dinner on Sunday." Mom’s never been a fan of Jaclyn’s, I know, but she’s remained silent and supportive because of her love for me.

  "I'll be there, but Jaclyn won't. We're no longer together," I confess.

  "Oh, Adam, I'm so sorry."

  "I'm fine, Mom, in fact, I've never felt better," I assure her.

  "As long as you're sure, darling. Must dash; I just called to congratulate you on the verdict. We’re so proud of you, Adam. See you on Sunday?"

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

  "I love you," she tells me before hanging up.

  "Love you too, Mom," I belatedly reply.

  .

  .

  "Congratulations again on your win, Adam. You just keep adding to your impressive record," Bristly says, motioning me to a seat. "I’ll get straight to point. What have you heard about this case that’s made the news?"

  "Only what’s been reported. Is there any truth in it, Sir?"

  "Police have been conducting an undercover investigation for some time and were just about to present us with their findings when the news broke. It’s a nuisance, but it hasn’t thrown too much of a spanner in the works, I’m assured. Chief Andersen’s arranged for the senior detective on the case, Holmes, to brief our office; he'll be here at six-thirty. Watts was being kept in the loop until he went in for surgery. Maddox has been liaising with the police in his absence, so she’ll be sitting in."

  "Did you want me to assist Jodi?"

  He sucks in his bottom lip and contemplates me from beneath bushy brows and, then, releasing his lip with a smacking sound, smirks. "You offering to second-chair?" he challenges.

  "I'd much rather head up the case, but if you think Jodi’s the better person, I'll deal, Sir," I respond diplomatically.

  "I'm glad to see you're prepared to put the department's best interests ahead of your own ambitions," he says dryly, "but with Watts away, I want you to lead. It's fortuitous that the Jenkins trial’s over."

  I can’t hide my pleasure. I've dreamed about bringing major drug dealers to justice. The truth is, I’ve wanted an opportunity like this from the moment I first set my mind on becoming a prosecutor.

  "Maddox will second-chair; she already knows this," Bristly continues. "This is an important case, Adam, the biggest of its kind. We can't afford to mess up, so I want you to come to me if you need any help, and the Commissioner and I need to be kept informed at all times. There may be some pretty big reputations on the line, and we don’t want any political or media backlash. It’s yet another reason I want us to do everything humanly possible to move any related trials through the courts as quickly and efficiently as possible."

  "I understand, and thank you for the vote of confidence. I look forward to working with Jodi, and I'll set up weekly briefings to keep you in the loop." I take a moment before continuing.

  "I'm not sure whether Senator Wade will end up being implicated, but I should advise that he and I were good friends at Harvard; and although we haven't been in contact or seen each other since graduation, you may still wish to reconsider my involvement in the case, Sir."

  "Would you allow someone responsible for supplying drugs and sexually exploiting young women to go free? Even if that person had once been a friend of yours?" Bristly scrutinizes me closely.

  "No, I wouldn't," I reply without hesitation.

  "Then I don't have a problem. Keep me informed." I recognize the dismissal and get up immediately and thank him before making my way to Jodi’s office.

  She’s on the phone, but sees me hovering and signals for me to take a seat. Jodi Maddox is petite with straight, near-black hair falling to her shoulders. Her large, grey eyes are capable of incinerating you with a single look. She’s reputedly quite intimidating, as smart as a tack, a fearless prosecutor and, I’m told, a great team player and somewhat bossy.

  She tells, no, demands that the person she’s speaking to gets back to her with the information promised hours ago. I smile surreptitiously; definitely bossy, and I'm glad she's on my team because Jodi, I can tell, is a woman who gets things done.

  "Adam Thorne visiting the peasants…wonders will never cease," she says when hanging up.

  "Hi Jodi, how're things? I've just met with the DA …" I hesitate, wanting to choose my words carefully.

  "I'm aware you'll be prosecuting this case if it goes to trial, Adam. It's not like you to worry about what others think. Don't go soft on me now."

  "No chance of that," I reply, echoing her lighthearted tone. "Are you free to brief me now?"

  .

  .

  An hour later, I’m staring out of my office window, pondering what I’ve learned. I still find it hard to believe that Justin’s caught up in a drug and sex ring; it’s just so far removed from the man I knew.

  I met him when he introduced himself and his friend Thomas Martin to me in the registration line on our first orientation day at Harvard Law. We discovered, then, that we’d be living in the same building and were later also assigned to the same student group. Those coincidences led to a friendship that lasted throughout our Harvard years.

  Justin and Tom, childhood friends, were extremely close. I was more the peripheral friend, which was totally understandable. They have much in common, both born into lives of wealth and privile
ge and imbued with an overwhelming sense of entitlement, while I; well, my life had been the exact opposite.

  Justin’s descended from a long and distinguished line of politicians. His path to political greatness, potentially the highest office in the land, had been charted even before his birth. Tom planned on following his grandfather into private practice. "Corporate law or defense attorney," he argued in response to my stated desire of becoming a prosecutor. "Business is where the money’s at, and there will always be more bad guys needing representation," he said, greatly irked that I wouldn’t be persuaded to his way of thinking. Money has never motivated me, even before I came into my fortune. No one outside of my family, at that stage, knew of my wealth, and I kept my secret from my new friends. The media have since learned of my wealth, but, thankfully, haven’t uncovered its source. I aim to keep it that way.

  I haven’t seen either Justin or Tom since the day after graduation. We attended a number of parties the night before, separating sometime near dawn, each to fall into some girl’s bed to partake of the last college sex on offer. Bleary-eyed and nursing hangovers from hell, we packed up our belongings the next day and stepped into our separate futures with promises to keep in touch.

  We didn’t, but I’m well aware of their achievements. Justin’s political success continues to attract media attention, and the legal fraternity is pretty close-knit, so it would have been impossible for me not to know that Tom’s made it to junior partner in his grandfather’s old firm. I haven’t actively sought information and haven’t given any conscious thought to either of them in years, but it appears I'm destined to meet one or both of them again. I highly doubt that they’ve lost touch with each other, and Justin may well have need of an attorney.

  Chapter Three

  Jon Holmes is a tall man, lean with a strong jaw and dark brown eyes. Well groomed and tailored, he’s nothing like the stereotypical detectives I grew up watching on television. His intelligent, searching eyes and firm handshake tell me there’s much more to him than the urbane exterior he presents.