“You obviously haven’t seen my pay stub,” Tweed replied.
Sean grinned and then eyed the bandage that ran from Tweed’s left temple to the middle of his cheek. “I hope the other guy looks worse.”
“If only my life was so exciting,” Tweed said. “Biking accident—hit some gravel in Rock Creek Park. I was on a date, so it was a little embarrassing.”
“Hard to keep up with the nineteen-year-olds, I guess,” Sean said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tweed said, scanning for who was in earshot. “She was twenty.”
Sean emitted a small, dry laugh.
Tweed said, “I’ll come by and chat in a bit. And, hey, you’re in private practice now, so you need to actually say hello to people and be friendly.”
“Is Abby here?” Sean asked.
“I haven’t seen her. But you don’t think she’d miss out on being the envy of her classmates, do you?” Tweed pointed up. Windows lined the second-floor atrium overlooking the reception area. Law students were pressed against the glass gawking at the assemblage of legal elite.
Sean smiled. “I suppose she wouldn’t. If you see her before I do, please send her my way.”
Tweed nodded, already shaking hands with the next person in line.
“Get you a drink?” Cecilia asked. She plucked a cracker with olive tapenade from a silver tray offered by a server. Sean looked about the room. All clans accounted for. The former solicitor generals, the legal giants who got the best Supreme Court cases in private practice, mingled near the bar. At the boundaries, huddled in groups of three or four, the current staff of OSG. They talked in whispers and studiously displayed their non-alcoholic drinks. And at the center of the room, the VIPs: the dean, Supreme Court justices, members of Congress. Circling them were the nakedly ambitious. Sean saw Senator James chatting with Justice Scheuerman. The senator let out a big laugh at whatever the justice had said. Sean was sure it wasn’t that funny.
Cecilia clutched Sean’s arm. “There’s Justice Carr, let’s say hello.”
“I’d really rather just wait for the program to start.” Carr was the newest member of the high court, confirmed just a few months ago. He was the only member of The Nine whom Sean had never met. From what he knew, though, Thaddeus Dupont Carr—“T.D.” or “Touch Down” to friends—was one of those guys you loved to hate. College football star (thus the nickname), editor of the Stanford Law Review, and the youngest judge appointed to the Ninth Circuit until he breezed through the Supreme Court confirmation process.
“Come on, you’ll like him. He’s got a dry sense of humor, like you,” Cecilia said. “You’re coming.”
Cecilia soon had Justice Carr laughing. She was famously profane and didn’t censor herself for anyone, Supreme Court justices included. Carr finally turned to Sean and said, “I don’t envy you.”
Sean gave an apologetic smile and said, “Oh, Cecilia’s harmless, you just have to get used to her lack of a filter.” He’d spent a career apologizing for Cecilia.
The justice chortled. “No, I meant this morning’s story in the Post. I remember when the press was speculating about my nomination. Reporters actually dug through the trash cans at my house.”
Sean furrowed his brow. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious,” Justice Carr said. “Be careful.”
Sean nodded, not sure how to respond. After a few seconds, he opted for changing the subject. “My daughter met you recently.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She’s a law student here. Jon Tweed brought a group of his students to the court in January. Abby said your talk was ‘inspirational.’ Her word.”
The justice laughed. “Oh, to be young and so easily fooled.”
Senator James brushed by. Justice Carr’s eyes traced James’s path.
“Want some free advice?” Carr asked.
“From you?” Sean said. “Of course.”
“When I was being considered for the nomination, someone wisely told me to always keep an eye on the competition.”
Sean nodded.
“But in your case,” Carr tilted his head toward Senator James, “you might want to get a food taster.”
Cecilia was right. Sean was starting to like Justice Carr.
CHAPTER 4
There was a tap of a microphone and the rumble in the room dissipated. The dean stood on a platform in the reception area of Hotung. He was a bald, thin man in his fifties and behind him sat eighty-year-old Chief Justice Malburg. She was in a large wing chair that seemed to swallow her up. After some opening remarks, the dean turned the microphone over to Jonathan Tweed, the school’s Supreme Court scholar-in-residence.