43

Stepping off the elevator on Monday morning, Nikki knew immediately that she could get used to working at a place like Randolph and Associates. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she walked toward the mahogany reception desk trimmed with polished brass. Expensive impressionist paintings hung from the walls, but the subjects were strangely incongruous with this highbrow law firm. From one painting, the haunting blue eyes of a coal miner, devoid of hope, peered out from a coal-stained face. Another showed the grimy exhaustion of rail yard workers, or at least that’s who Nikki thought they were.

But there was no mistaking the picture just behind the bleached-blonde receptionist. Big as life, bigger actually, was an impressionist portrait of the man himself—Preston Edgar Randolph—in all his square-jawed glory. They might as well have hung a brass nameplate underneath that said “Friend of the Workingman.”

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked. As Nikki expected, she looked like a model. Good looks, Nikki thought, matter at Randolph and Associates.

“I’m Nikki Moreno. I’m here to meet with Mr. Randolph.”

The receptionist took Nikki’s name and called Randolph’s assistant. A few minutes later, another candidate for modeling school, this one a brunette, came out to escort Nikki into an equally impressive conference room. Nikki looked the woman over for flaws, but nothing jumped out at her. It was good that looks mattered, but this competition was a little intense.

“Would you like something to drink?” the cover girl asked.

“Water’s fine.”

The woman took care of Nikki’s water and then left her alone. Nikki busied herself by studying the view and making a few cell phone calls. Ten minutes later, she walked down the hall to use the restroom.

Randolph didn’t bother to show until fifteen minutes later. He came with an entourage. One thick security guard followed at each shoulder, and an assistant hustled along a few steps behind. Another man, apparently some kind of technical whiz, entered the room and took care of setting up the videoconference. A young woman who claimed to be a lawyer introduced herself, and Nikki secretly wondered what modeling agency she worked for.

Randolph pumped her hand as if Nikki were an old fraternity brother. Up close, he looked ten years older than the picture on the Internet. He was still handsome but more gaunt than she had expected, and his dark eyes turned down at the corners. Though his security guards and associate were dressed to the nines, Randolph himself wore a pair of faded jeans, an untucked polo shirt, and a pair of Birkenstocks with no socks.

As he sat, his assistant poured him a soft drink and then discreetly left the room. Within minutes, the faces of the other conference participants appeared on the big screens—Hadji’s mother and father from a copy shop in Los Angeles and Kareem Hasaan’s wife from Kareem’s office in New York City.

Randolph tilted back in his chair and explained the purpose for the conference call. He represented Dr. Victoria Kline, he said, as well as Judge Finney. As he spoke, he stole a quick glance at Nikki, who nodded her approval. She would try to remember to tell the judge about his new lawyer the next time she sent him a message.

The show’s producers had not been playing fair with the contestants, Randolph explained, and in particular had probably defamed both Dr. Kline and Judge Finney in last week’s show. Not technically, of course, since defamation law required something called actual malice if the people being defamed were limited-purpose public figures. Which, of course, reminded Randolph of the time he sued one of the major television networks on another defamation case that everybody said was unwinnable. It was a five-minute rabbit trail of a story, but it had a happy ending. Randolph’s client obtained nearly two million dollars in settlement.

“Where was I?” Randolph wondered.

“Possible defamation claims,” Nikki prompted.

“Oh yeah.”

It wasn’t just the way the show portrayed the contestants that had Randolph concerned. Based on a phone message from Victoria, he was actually concerned about their psychological and even physical well-being. He didn’t want to alarm anyone, but it seemed to him that the show’s producers would stop at nothing in their quest for eye-popping ratings. He asked if anybody else had similar concerns.

Hadji’s parents took this as a cue to launch into their complaints about the way the show treated their son. For one thing, his girlfriend was in tears after last Thursday’s episode. Hadji’s mother dabbed at her own eyes as she described the part of the episode where her son’s girlfriend left their house in humiliation.

I’m not sure that was exactly the producer’s fault, Nikki thought. It’s not like they forced Hadji to hook up with Tammy. But she kept her thoughts to herself. Moms were entitled to a few blind spots when it came to their children.

“Have you contacted anybody from Dr. Ando’s family?” Nikki asked.

“There wasn’t anybody,” one of the investigators said. “No wife. No kids. Both parents are dead. His siblings haven’t talked with him for nearly a year.”

“He takes that nonattachment stuff seriously,” Randolph said.

After Randolph launched into a few more war stories to impress the potential clients, he made a few things crystal clear. One: he wasn’t afraid to sue anybody. Two: he was about ready to sue the producers of Faith on Trial just for sport. And three: he thought the contestants would be in a stronger position if they stuck together. Hadji’s parents signed up before the videoconference ended. Kareem’s wife wanted to think about it but promised to stay in touch. Finney, by Nikki’s earlier commitment, was already in the fold. But she also requested that Randolph not take any actions on behalf of Finney unless she authorized them.

“We’ll file an injunction and shut this show down if we have to,” Randolph promised.

As soon as the videoconference ended, an assistant reappeared and reminded Randolph of another conference call that had started five minutes earlier. Before leaving, Randolph told his investigators to brief Nikki on their findings about Javitts, McCormack, and Murphy. “Oh, and what’s the connection with those other names you wanted us to check?” he asked Nikki.

Nikki didn’t think it would be appropriate to lay out Finney’s dirty laundry in front of Preston Randolph’s entire entourage. “Those are the names of some defendants on a few cases that Finney handled,” Nikki said casually. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any connection.”

“The speedy-trial cases,” Randolph said. He smiled and Nikki knew she had just been one-upped. She should have seen it coming—those names were public information.

Randolph rose to leave but then stopped and studied Nikki as if seeing her for the first time. His gaze lingered for a few seconds on the Moreno legs, and Nikki knew that the balance of power had just shifted. “Did you say you clerk in Norfolk Circuit Court right now?”

“Yes. I start my final year of law school this fall.”

He nodded, then cocked his head as if something had just occurred to him. “Have you committed to a firm yet?”

“I’m still trying to decide where to work,” Nikki said. Despite the opulence of the place, she was having second thoughts about working for an egomaniac like Randolph. Before law school, she had worked as a paralegal for a Virginia Beach lawyer, Brad Carson, and knew she could return there after she graduated. In Nikki’s opinion, Brad was twice the lawyer Randolph was, with half the ego. Still, it didn’t hurt to keep her options open.

“Excellent. You ought to drop a résumé in here,” Randolph responded. He walked over to shake her hand. “Send it directly to my attention.”

“I will,” she said, standing and giving him a firm businesslike handshake.

His droopy eyes locked on hers for a moment too long, as if he was trying to convey something more than what was being said. “Great. I’ll be looking for it.”

As soon as Randolph left the room, Nikki noticed that the temperature seemed to plummet. “Don’t get your hopes up,” Randolph’s pretty young associate said.

But Nikki ignored her. “I think you gentlemen were supposed to fill me in on your investigation,” she said to the two men who had accompanied Randolph into the room earlier. And then, as an afterthought, she turned back to the associate. “Tell me your name again,” Nikki asked politely.

“Kerri.”

“Great.” She held her empty glass toward the scowling lawyer. “Would you mind getting me a little more water, Kerri?”