Chapter One
HOW DO I LIVE
Diego Armando & Marvin Grossberg
Grossberg Law Offices
February 23, 2013; 1:43 P.M.
"We got it! We finally got it!"
Waving a manila folder high above his head in one hand, the other hand grasping his seventh cup of afternoon coffee, Diego Armando dashed into his boss's office and skidded to a stop, practically breathless. He threw the folder on the chief's desk and held tight. He was agitated and jumpy, and for once, this had nothing to do with his daily caffeine intake.
It was a modest but comfortable law office. The front door opened to a reception and waiting area, where Marvin Grossberg's young assistant, Terri Sekkra, answered phones and worked on menial tasks such as data entry, organizing files, making copies, and getting coffee for the boss. She also watered and maintained the plants that grew in the pots that lined the giant window. There were people out there who would turn their noses up at such an entry-level position, but Diego Armando certainly wasn't one of them. Terri had just graduated from Themis Legal Academy and had been applying to several law schools around the country, including Yale and Stanford. He appreciated Terri's work, as it certainly helped him and the other lawyers out. However, the scarlet-clad attorney would brew his own coffee, thank you very much!
A hallway led to a restroom and a nondescript interview room. The reception room itself opened into two other rooms. One was the area where Grossberg's attorneys worked. On the door, a bronze plaque bearing the names of the lawyers gleamed.
DIEGO ARMANDO, attorney at law
MIA FEY, attorney at law
ROBERT HAMMOND, attorney at law
The area was about as sizable as Armando's two-bedroom apartment, so he and his co-workers had a decent amount of space to work in. It tended to get a bit overcrowded, though, and that was usually whenever Mr. Hammond was in the office. He could suck all the happiness and fun out of a room in just under two minutes! Why, his first complaint upon placing the new plaque on the door was that his name was last—heaven forbid that Grossberg should put their names in alphabetical order!
Armando supposed that overcrowded was one word for it. The other word—well, it wasn't suitable for civil discussion. Hammond never missed a chance to wander over to their junior partner's desk and talk to her, even when she was clearly busy working, even if Armando was there. No, especially if Armando was there. He didn't consider Hammond to be a romantic rival for Mia Fey's affection in the least, but the man was just creepy. Hell, he was somewhere around twice her age!
Besides his constant vying for Mia's attention, however, Robert Hammond had another hobby—antagonizing Armando in the worst possible way. Armando had his collection of seventeen coffee mugs proudly displayed in his office space. Each of them had its own name, named after women Armando had once dated or otherwise known from one-night stands and coffee breaks—and now and then Hammond would pick one of his ladies up and threaten to shatter her.
There was no defense attorney in the world who'd be able to get Hammond a "not guilty" verdict if he committed the crime of dropping and breaking one of his beautiful women, accidental or no.
As he waited impatiently, noisily gulping his coffee, Armando glanced around his superior's office. Grossberg's stuffy, lurid oil painting—the one he told anyone who would listen would fetch four million dollars if he ever intended to part with it—took up an entire wall. How a painting of a fisherman could fetch that sort of money is anyone's guess, the young attorney thought, especially when the painting itself smells worse than dead fish. Occasionally, Armando would find his boss gazing at the painting with sadness in his eyes, as if the art were reminding him of some painful memory or regret.
"Ah," said Marvin Grossberg, flipping through the file Armando had presented. "What am I looking at here, Mr. Armando?"
You're not even looking at it, Your Lemon-ness! thought Armando, thinking of his superior's constant talk about the days of his youth and the scent of fresh lemons. Despite his restlessness, he tilted his head and smugly regarding the rotund man. "It's the transcript of the Fawles trial."
That got the chief's attention. Setting the file aside, he gave Armando a stern look. The defense attorney stiffened, knowing what his boss was about to say but powerless to stop himself from asking anyway. "Mr. Armando," said Grossberg. "The Terry Fawles case ended in a mistrial."
"I know, sir, but— "
"I realize, of course, the effect the trial had on Miss Fey," Grossberg pressed.
"That's not it at all, sir— "
"But," Grossberg declared with a terrible finality, "there is nothing more we can do. Case closed."
"Fawles was innocent!" Armando yelled, slamming his coffee mug down on Grossberg's desk. "You just don't … " He stopped, stepped back, sipped at his coffee, and took a deep, calming breath. "You weren't there, Chief," he went on, struggling to keep the accusation out of his voice.
Grossberg rose from his plush chair so quickly that Armando nearly flinched. But when he met his superior's slate-gray eyes again, the expression in them was kind. "Mr. Armando, please," Grossberg ventured, "do not think I am not sympathetic to Miss Fey's plight. Or yours. Or, for that matter, even that of the young prosecutor on that case. However, the trial of … "
Here Grossberg paused; the portly attorney appeared to be choosing his words very carefully. "However," he intoned softly, "Terry Fawles is dead. There's nothing more we can do," he said, repeating his words from earlier.
The young lawyer took another swig of coffee, gulping noisily. "We can still find justice for Terry Fawles," Armando pointed out earnestly. "We can still find justice for Valerie Hawthorne!"
"Diego." Armando froze, darkly regarding his boss—Grossberg never called his subordinates by their given names unless he meant business. "I want you to go home. Take the day off. Get some rest." A soft smile graced the defense chief's lips. "Hammond will cover your duties in the office this afternoon. Go see Miss Fey," Grossberg said earnestly. "I'm sure she'd appreciate your company."
Armando paused, considering his boss's offer. Sure, Hammond was an annoying, egotistical jerk, and any time spent out of his presence would be a welcome relief. Nonetheless, he didn't want to leave the office, not with so much to do—not while Dahlia Hawthorne was out there somewhere enjoying her freedom. She had killed Valerie Hawthorne, Armando knew, and she'd certainly had a hand in Terry Fawles's death on the witness stand.
Mia Fey, Armando thought. She had believed in Fawles's innocence, all the way to the bitter end. There was something so simple about that, so touching. Now, thanks to that bitch, Mia had sworn that she would never set foot in a courtroom again. It wasn't fair! Well, Armando was going to bring Dahlia Hawthorne to justice—whether Grossberg was okay with it or not. He would do it for Mia.
"I'm okay with that," Armando put in, draining what was left of his coffee. There was an awkward pause. "Uh … thanks, Chief. I guess we'll see you tomorrow."
"Armando," the aging defense attorney said.
"Yeah?"
"If I told you, off the record, that I can't officially open an investigation into Dahlia Hawthorne—at least not yet—can you understand what I'm saying?"
Cradling his coffee mug, Armando nodded slowly. "I think I do," he answered. "Thanks, Mr. Grossberg."
Grossberg watched him go. He knew Diego Armando well enough to know that he wasn't just going to let this go—one way or another, he was going to look into this. It would take Grossberg time to officially open an investigation into Dahlia Hawthorne, but he would do what he could to streamline the process. For now, he would silently encourage Armando to find out whatever he could.