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THE BAKER AND KEEFE Law firm occupied floors eight through twelve of a building on K Street. The D.C. branch of B&K had remarkable financial success, predicated on its sixty lawyers billing an average of two hundred hours a month at an average of three hundred dollars an hour, grossing an average of one hundred seventy-five million a year, and earning partners nearly two million in their coffers a year. Their group of lobbyists had power on par with Wall Street firms. Maria Sethmeyer had been a partner for two years. She snatched one-point-two million a year and was shooting to double that by fifty. She was forty-seven.
Naim was welcomed to the D.C. Office with an outstretched hand by Mariah. A tall, botox-faced, former college tennis star, Maria had three Ivy-league degrees on her decorative resume.
“As one of the New York partners, your perks here are many,” she said, exiting an elevator with Naim in tow. They walked along a corridor covered in plum-colored carpeting to mask the footsteps of traffic passing offices filled with attorneys-at-work. “I have a personal secretary and two paralegals getting set to assist you. And an enormous office with windows with a peek at the crown of the Capitol Building and the Washington Monument.”
“Thank you,” Naim said blandly, walking into an office. He was determined and not impressed by the wood-paneled walls, the leather furniture, the glass desk, or a rug imported from Turkey on the hardwood floor. Clicking his wingtips on the mahogany, he had a seat behind the desk in a high-backed, studded-chair and then said, “I’d like to get to work. Could you send in my team as soon as they arrive, please.”
“I like that. Assertive and prepared to get to work.” She smiled. “Yes, you’ll be fine in Washington.”
“I believe so,” he said, powering on the desktop computer.
“All of your New York billing codes and passwords will get you access to what you’ve been cleared to get into in New York. How do you take your coffee?”
“Extra. Extra,” he said, tapping keys on the keyboard.
Thirty-Nine was hardly a ripe old age, but he worked harder and efficiently to easily get his morning started. Five years from now, even ten years, he wanted to splurge a rough night on the town, tack on a bit of hide-the-sausage, take it down in the wee hours, catch some fast sleep, tip out of bed at six-thirty, take a cold shower, and go whistling off to face to the day’s menu, without hardship.
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Twenty minutes passed before there was a light rap on the door. Three people—two women and one man—walked in wearing determined smiles. All business. They stopped in front of his desk, and he stood shaking all of their hands.
One of them pushed a mug in his hand, filled coffee and added extra creamer and extra sugar.
“You must be my secretary?” Naim said to the woman who passed him the mug.
“Correct. Margaret Mason. Nice to meet you.” She was something. A dazzle of delicious colors: metallic hair, cloud inspired eyes with lashes like crisp centipedes, a wide mouth with fuchsia lips, rosy cheeks. The white button-up was cinched with a belt wide enough for Air Force One to land on it. Her skirt of pink, gray, and white Burberry icon print was so tight that looking at her sideways resembled a map of Africa. Black stilettos. Purple-colored fingernails, more like Raven claws. A brilliant walking Davinci.
“I’m Daniel Watts, your paralegal. I specialize in constitutional law strategies with strong reliance on Supreme Court precedent.”
The paralegal, no doubt, was a wizened black gentleman slightly younger than God. His hair and shadow beard were snow-white, matching his perfect teeth.
“And, I’m Christina Gordon, also a paralegal. I focus on D.C. law and precedents that support a specific trial strategy.” He figured her for Britain blood. The accent gave it away. She was razor thin, with bronzed skin, jeffy hair, a nose that could slice turkey.
“OK, let’s take seats,” Naim said, sitting down. He spun his computer screen so that they could see it.
“Handsome,” Margaret said, smiling.
“You realize that’s a mug shot,” Daniel said, sneering and shaking his head.
Naim simply smirked. “That’s our client, one David Thurman. His wife is currently serving time in federal prison. Her sentence sparked the murder of Justice Weston and Senator Elberg. David, before being caught, was determined to kill every liberal legal mind who set out to keep his wife in jail for a mandatory sentence.”
“Why’d he only target liberals?” asked Christina.
“I’ll ask when I chat with him after his meeting.”
“Sounds crazy to me,” Daniel said, swiping keys on an iPad.
“You might be right,” Naim replied. To Margaret: “I need a list of psychologists prepared to evaluate competency. Second, I want every morsel of data that led to the prosecution of Mrs. Thurman.”
“Are we representing her too?”
“No. I just want a profile on her. Perhaps, I may need our lobbyist to brief me on what’s in the works to fix her predicament. That is, if she is truly in one.”
“Got it,” she said fully satisfied, scribbling on a pad.
“For you two,” Naim said, “I want extensive details about the statutes David could possibly be charged with.” He handed them a one page summary of what he knew David had done. “I need to know every possibility. The Feds are notorious for holding back charges to use during plea negotiations as a threat for a superseding indictment. Investigate all of his priors, if he has any, so we can determine sentencing exposure. I don’t want the AUSA dictating my playbook. I want to control using all offense.”
“Funny you should mention that. I, as instructed by Maria, sent a courtesy Email over to Shai...” said Margaret.
“Who happens to be the Chief of the Criminal Division; ergo, they’ve brought out the big guns,” Daniel said, cutting into her statement.
“...informing him that you were taking the case and that no one in law enforcement with any agency is to speak to David Thurman without you being present. He swiftly replied, indicating that he wanted to meet ASAP to interrogate, Thurman, and to discuss options for moving forward that do not result in increased exposure for Thurman.”
“Odd,” Christina said, “because he’ll likely be charged with 1111, first-degree murder. Not many options to increase exposure when you’re starting at a mandatory life or the death penalty.”