Kenzi arrived at her office feeling overwhelmed, like she barely had her head on straight. She’d spent the last several days trying unsuccessfully to locate Brittany and to make sure she was safe. So far she’d accomplished nothing. Crozier wouldn’t tell her a thing except that the child was unharmed—and everything else was confidential. Michael had legal possession of the child. Maya said Brittany had used her father’s phone and texted her once. The girl was traumatized and terrified—but there was nothing they could do about it.
Kenzi had managed to schedule a settlement conference and she hoped they could make progress. Maybe even resolve the entire case. At the very least, lay some ground rules and establish a visitation schedule so Maya could see her daughter.
Sharon didn’t wait to be asked. She pointed down the corridor when Kenzi approached her desk. “In there.”
“Already?”
“Yeah. The Spawn of Satan rises early.”
She suppressed a grin. “You probably need to stop saying that. At least when he’s around.”
“Appropriate though, isn’t it? The Spawn of Satan reps the babynapper.”
“Stop. I have to focus.”
“Did you bring your bulletproof vest?”
“Left it at home. But Hailee put a wooden stake in my satchel.” She glanced into the reception area. “Who’s the guy with the beard? Dressed like a Old Testament prophet.”
“He’s going for Jesus, actually.”
“Whaaaat?”
“That’s Michael’s spiritual advisor.”
“The childnapper is religious?” She paused. “I guess Maya did mention that he’d joined a church.”
“I think it’s an outbound Bible camp or something. People getting in tune with nature. Organic crops and hydroponic farming. And prayer.”
“And he wants to criticize Maya about Hexitel?”
“Michael’s group is Christian and, so far as I know, it doesn’t assign wives to its members. Or have masters and slaves.”
“What’s with the costume? Is he putting on a show? Look how holy I am?”
“I don’t know. Michael dragged the guy in here, supposedly for moral support.”
“Michael needs moral education, not moral support.”
She figured she’d probably regret it, but she couldn’t resist pumping the man for more information. She approached. “Hi. I’m Kenzi Rivera.”
The man stood. He was wearing what looked like a burlap robe and sandals. In Seattle. Where it rains one hundred and fifty-six days a year. His craggy, bearded face was reserved but freidnly. “I’m Adrien Messie.”
“I understand you’re Michael’s…counselor.”
“He’s been going through a rough patch. We all need the support of others at times like these. I believe our flock has brought him much comfort.”
“So this is an actual true-to-life church? What denomination?”
“We’re not affiliated with any large organization. I don’t see the need for it. We have a small settlement outside Seattle. Michael has only recently joined us.”
“Did he bring his daughter with him?’
Messie stroked his beard. “I’m…not at liberty…”
Of course not. “Is this a Christian church?”
“Very much so. We believe in living simply, as Jesus did, apart from the temptations of urban life.”
“You certainly seem to dress…simply.”
“If it was good enough for the prophets, it’s good enough for me. Michael tells me you’re…more concerned about clothing.”
Her reputation preceded her. “I like to look good.”
“Goodness comes from within. Dressing simply might lead to simplifying your life. Allowing you to focus on matters of greater import.”
What would the KenziKlan think if she started appearing in burlap? “I’m a lawyer. I have to dress professionally.”
“Do you like working? I know some women do, and they should be afforded that opportunity, but I’ve found that many of the women in my flock are happier leading…simpler lives.”
“Changing diapers and baking casseroles?”
He smiled. “Every woman has to find her own peace. Often that comes from the home.”
“I have a home and a daughter. Neither brings me much peace. Is your church in a small town? Rural area?”
“Yes.”
“And your followers live with you? Like a commune?”
“We live together as a community. Worship together.” He smiled. “And work the farm. For our own sustenance. Not for profit.”
Out the corner of her eye, she spotted Maya entering. “I would love to learn more—”
“I have another matter I need to attend to, and I can see you’re busy.” He bowed slightly. “Perhaps we can talk another time. Peace be with you.” He left the lobby.
Kenzi approached Maya. “How are you doing?”
“How do you think? My daughter’s been kidnapped and I can’t even talk to her.”
“Crozier assured me Brittany is safe.”
“I want to see her.”
“I know. And—”
“I’m not sure I can be in the same room with Michael without wringing his neck.”
Kenzi raised a finger. “No fighting. No arguing. We came here to resolve conflict. One stray remark could torpedo the entire process.”
“I’ll try. But if Michael starts lying—”
“Try harder.”
Maya asked for five minutes to make a phone call. Kenzi entered the conference room and found Lou Crozier at the far end of the table surrounded by legal pads and documents. How could he have so much paperwork on a case that was only a few days old? She suspected most of it was bogus. Set decoration designed to make him look busy and important.
“No client?” she asked.
“Stepped into the men’s room.” Crozier was about the same age as her father and definitely of that generation of lawyers. He wore a close-cropped beard, probably to compensate for the hair he did not have on the top of his head. “Long time no see. How are you, Kenzi?”
“Ready to kick butt and bend steel with my bare hands.”
“I’m hoping that won’t be necessary.”
“Don’t be so sure. I can’t stand kidnappers.”
Crozier drew in a weary breath. “There’s a huge difference between a kidnapper and a concerned parent who legally removes a child from a dangerously unstable parent with connections to a deviant and probably criminal cult.”
“Save the speeches for the judge. Your client is the violent one.”
“Look, the clients aren’t here yet, so we don’t have to put on a show. Why don’t we just talk like normal people? How are you holding up?”
Her face twisted. “What do you mean?”
“I heard about your…disappointment.”
Damnation. Word travelled fast in the Seattle legal world. Or was her previous guess correct—he overheard her talking at the Ferry.
“That must have been a crushing blow,” he continued. “Bad enough to be passed over when you’ve worked your butt off. But to be passed over by your own father?” He whistled. “That’s gotta sting.”
“I never expected the job, for your information.” Was she really lying to Crozier? Why? But she couldn’t seem to stop. “Gabe will do a fine job.”
He gave her a long look. “Kenzi…I’ve been in court opposite Gabe. More than once. Nice polite man. But…kind of a bumbler. You lawyer circles around him.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And ignore the rest.”
“I’m trying to be sympathetic. I haven’t always gotten everything I wanted in life, either. I suppose no one does. But this is a gross injustice. And most people, when they feel they’ve been treated badly, start looking for alternatives.”
The more time she spent with this man, the more she disliked him. Had he guessed she was planning to open her own shop?
“You know…we could definitely make room for a gal with your talents at Crozier & Crozier.”
Ignoring the sexist “gal” part for the moment, was this odious man actually offering her a job? “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m offering you a position with our firm. A partnership position. One that makes you a ton of money and puts you in line to run the joint a few years down the road. Like, before you turn forty. When I step down.”
She hardly knew what to say. Her firm’s biggest competitor was headhunting her? Was he trying to soften her up so she’d be generous when they negotiated the settlement? Or was he doing this because he knew how much it would disturb her father? He might perceive that as the ultimate blow—having a Rivera work for Crozier & Crozier.
“I’m not sure I’d be a good fit in your firm. I’m pretty liberal.”
“I don’t give a damn about your politics.”
“You say that, but I’ve heard you’re way far right. Like, QAnon-Proud Boys-Oath Keepers-conspiracy theories far right.”
“What the mainstream media call conspiracy theories, others call truth the mainstream refuses to print. Because it doesn’t fit with the far left antifa plan to turn America into a socialist state. We use the dark web and encrypted messaging apps because we’ve been silenced everywhere else.”
Sharon was right about this guy. “I’m afraid I don’t agree—”
“You don’t have to agree. My law firm is my business, not my megaphone. Our goal is to make money. Politicking is a spare-time activity.”
“Still, it makes me…uncomfortable. Especially after the January 6 insurrection at the US Capitol.”
“That was a misguided demonstration that got out of hand. A few extremists damaged the cause. Most of the people present that day only came to protest peacefully. Including me.”
Her eyes fairly bulged. “You were there?”
“And I’m proud of it. I did nothing illegal. I didn’t enter the Capitol building. But here’s something relevant to our discussion. I consider myself the Attorney for the Damned. In fact, I have it on a plaque on my desk. You know what that means?”
“You handle cases no one else will take?”
“No. I don’t care about that Last Chance Lawyer crap. I’m talking about people who’ve been vilified by the press and consequently can’t get a fair shake. Can’t speak their mind. As lawyers, we have a duty to help people in that impossible situation. That’s the oath I made when I became a lawyer. And it’s a promise I made to God.”
“You’re religious.”
“Of course.”
“Same church as your client?”
“Oh, hell no. I have no idea what those people are doing out in the woods. But my faith is my cornerstone. It made me the man I am today.”
She decided not to comment.
“I couldn’t make you managing partner on the first day,” Crozier continued, “but I could definitely put you on track. Unlike your father, I have no children in my firm. No designated heir. And when I make a promise, I keep it. I won’t walk this back.”
“Hard to believe you’d give up the reins.”
He shook his head. “I have a higher calling.”
“Is this a…God thing?”
“There’s a prophecy. You can find it on YouTube. I’ll show you, if you like.”
“Maybe you can bottom line it for me.”
He nodded. “I expect to be appointed Chief Justice of the United States. In a very few years.”
Okay, didn’t see that one coming. “You know, John Roberts is relatively young…”
“He’s tainted. Surely you know he was pals with Jeffrey Epstein. It’s just a matter of time.”
“That sounds rather far-fetched.”
“You don’t have to agree. Or even understand. I’m offering you a job. You pick your own clients. You bill them however you like. And you don’t have to subscribe to my beliefs. All you have to do is make money and take good care of my firm.”
“I—I hardly know what to say—” His politics appalled her—but then, she didn't agree with anything her father said either. The offer did have a certain appeal. And it would give her father a much-needed lesson in Kenzi-appreciation.
“You don’t have to say anything now,” Crozier added. “Just think about it. Mull it over. Give me a call when you’re ready.”
“I will.” She swallowed. “Um…thank you.”
“No problem. Now let’s get down to business.”