78

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Paige woke early on the biggest day of her professional life. She had slept for maybe a grand total of two hours the night before, tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, cases churning through her mind. When she finally dozed off, she found herself answering questions in her dreams after arriving late for court and confusing the names of all the justices.

She made coffee using the in-room coffeepot at the Marriott hotel. Before Wyatt left, he had given them his firm credit card to pay for three separate rooms. On her budget alone, Paige would have shared with Kristen. She reviewed some cases and avoided looking at her phone. The morning’s headlines would only make her more nervous.

She got ready quickly, going light on the makeup, pulling her hair back, and putting on some low heels and a gray suit that doubled as courtroom armor. She checked herself out in the mirror and pronounced it good, or at least good enough, given the red eyes. Paige wasn’t hungry but she had agreed to meet Kristen and Wellington for breakfast. Maybe some time spent with the others would calm her nerves.

Before she headed out the door, she reached into the zipper compartment of her luggage and pulled out a small box. She carefully removed the diamond ring and strung it on the small gold necklace she was wearing. It hung just below her collarbone, and she tucked it inside her blouse.

Today, she felt worthy of wearing it. And like Patrick, she prayed for courage.

When she arrived downstairs, Wellington and Kristen were already there. Wellington’s face was more pale than normal, as if he’d been visited by the ghosts of the justices the prior night.

“Have you seen this?” he asked, handing his phone to Paige. The headline from the New York Tribune was like a gut punch: “Anderson Family Lawyers Are Targets of Grand Jury.”

The story was written, of course, by Harry Coburn. It talked about how Kristen’s lawyers had destroyed or bleached their computers in the middle of an FBI investigation into whether they had illegally obtained classified information. According to confidential sources, the lawyers had used top-secret information, unlawfully obtained, to advance the Anderson case, and the lawyers stood to make one-third of any recovery. The person who provided the classified information was unknown. But Wyatt, Paige, and Wellington had been called before a Norfolk grand jury on Tuesday, and it was presumed that indictments would soon be handed down. Even so, U.S. Attorney Mitchell Taylor had refused to comment. The article ended by saying that the sentencing guidelines for the misuse of classified information would range from five to six years with the possibility of an additional year for each obstruction count.

Paige instantly lost what little appetite she had. “Great” was all she could muster as she handed the phone back to Wellington.

A perky waitress showed up and asked Paige if she wanted coffee. She hadn’t intended to drink another cup because she didn’t want to be too jittery. But now she turned her cup right-side up. “Please.”

As they discussed this latest blow, it was Kristen who asked the pertinent question: “What would Wyatt do if he were here?” They all agreed that he would storm into court that morning as bombastic as ever. The government was so desperate to hide its illegal conduct that it was now trying to shut down the case with a grand jury indictment. Not only that, but it proved that the Anderson legal team had not leaked the Marcano deposition to reporter Harry Coburn—he was obviously no friend of theirs. It was logical to assume that whoever was feeding Coburn information had both given him Marcano’s deposition and told him about the grand jury.

It all sounded good in theory, but Paige knew the reporters could twist the story any way they wanted. And the plain truth of the matter was that Wyatt wasn’t here; she would be the one getting swarmed on the courthouse steps that morning. She would be the one facing the Supreme Court justices with this damning information floating around in the atmosphere, serving as the subtext to every question. Paige knew that by the time “May it please the Court” had crossed her lips, every person in that courtroom, including every single justice, would know that the lawyer about to argue for Kristen Anderson was being investigated for obstruction of justice.

But what could she do? It was too late to switch lawyers now. And Kristen had no desire to do so.

“This is the reason I wanted you to argue today,” Kristen said to Paige. “No offense, Wellington, but those justices might have believed that Wyatt was playing games and obstructing justice. They will never think that about Paige.”

Paige appreciated the vote of confidence. But she wasn’t so sure.

They were only a few blocks from the Supreme Court, so the three of them decided to walk. Paige and Wellington each carried fat briefcases full of black notebooks, and Paige’s briefcase also held the one thin manila folder that contained the outline of her argument and several pages of references to the record. She knew that she would never get a chance to deliver a scripted argument; there would be too many questions coming at her too fast. But being from the obsessive side of the tracks, she had decided to type one out anyway.

Their case was scheduled to be heard first and would be followed by an antitrust case and two criminal procedure cases. On the way to court they speculated about the size of the lines outside the building and how much interest their case might engender. “It’s not an abortion case,” Paige said. “I don’t think it’s going to generate that kind of chaos.”

“It was the top story for every newspaper in the lobby,” Wellington said, unhelpfully. Paige didn’t need any more pressure right now. “Except for the New York Tribune, of course,” he added, as if Paige could somehow forget.

“This case will determine the balance of power between the courts and the president in foreign affairs,” Wellington continued. “Is there any check on the president’s power? I mean, if we win this case, Hamilton could be impeached.”

“Can we change the subject?” Paige asked.

A few minutes later, they turned the corner and crossed the street with the light. Wellington was right. Maybe it wasn’t an abortion case, but you couldn’t tell that by the crowd.

Paige now had an unobstructed view of just how much interest the case had stirred up. On the sidewalk in front of the Supreme Court building with its grandiose steps, massive plaza, and giant marble pillars emphasizing the grandeur of the law, there were two long lines spreading out in opposite directions. The line on the left at the bottom of the steps was for lawyers admitted to the bar; it snaked along the sidewalk for more than a hundred yards. But it was dwarfed by the line on the opposite side, which was for the few hundred ordinary folks who might be lucky enough to grab a seat for the entire argument and for the several hundred more who would rotate through for three minutes each. That line stretched around the entire block, and it looked to Paige like the people at the front had been camping out all night.

In addition, there were cameras and satellite trucks, protesters with signs, and hordes of reporters that all made Paige’s throat feel a little tighter and her heart beat a little faster.

She and Wellington had scoped the place out the day before, and they knew the door they were supposed to enter was at the top of the plaza on the right-hand side of the building. There was no way to get there without plowing through the mob.

The three of them stayed on the opposite side of the street until they were even with the entrance. They waited for a break in traffic and got ready to jaywalk into the madness that would consume them in just a few minutes.

“Let’s go,” Paige said.

“Hooyah,” Kristen responded.

Paige kept her chin up as she crossed the street and the media converged on her. Cameras whirred and questions flew. Most of them dealt with the grand jury investigation. She saw a few signs from protesters bouncing around behind the reporters—Why did you make the soldiers die?

Paige, Wellington, and Kristen kept moving up the steps, ignoring the reporters. Paige veered across the plaza to the right, staring straight ahead, her jaw set. Wellington was half a step behind, but Kristen was right there by her side and at one point started yelling at the reporters to get out of the way.

It was an adrenaline-laced moment, one that most lawyers dreamed about, but Paige would have preferred to be almost anywhere else. She fought her way to the top of the second set of steps and then stopped, realizing that she wasn’t sure exactly where the door she was supposed to enter was located. It had all seemed different the day before.

Kristen grabbed her elbow. “It’s right over there,” she said.

Paige couldn’t help but smile. They started moving again, and the reporters grudgingly gave way. “You don’t think I look like a rookie, do you?” she murmured to Kristen.

“Maybe a little,” Kristen admitted. “But at least you’re a pretty one.”