And then comes something even harder to bear. Candace calls David Hanson up to the stage to say a few words, accept the organization’s thanks.
David kisses Marcie, then stands and glides to the steps that lead him up to the stage. Candace hugs him, hands him the microphone, then steps aside. David starts his speech by lamenting the high school dropout rate in Philly’s poor inner-city neighborhoods. African American neighborhoods are particularly hard hit by this plague, he tells us. The very children who most need education to raise themselves out of the poverty into which they’ve been unfairly cast by birth and circumstance have the hardest time staying in school. And that is why, he says, he felt compelled to donate a million dollars to the American Way’s Educational Impact Fund. Real money to address a real problem.
Somewhere in the middle of David’s speech, I glance back a couple of rows, to where Devlin Walker is sitting. I see my adversary staring at my client, utterly motionless. What I also see is the smile on Devlin’s lips. It’s there because Devlin, like Susan and I, knows that this is all going to come back to bite David in the ass. Perhaps sensing me, Devlin turns in my direction. His smile grows just a little wider, and he raises his glass ever so slightly. I turn away.
Later, after dinner, Piper visits the ladies’ room while Susan and I take up positions near one of the two small bars set up in the foyer. I spot David and Marcie in the back of the ballroom, talking with two couples. The men I recognize as senior partners in a big defense firm that handles a lot of HWI’s legal work. Both lawyers are visibly uncomfortable. They cannot afford to irritate Edwin Hanson, who could pull their assignments on a moment’s notice. On the other hand, they can’t disrespect David, either, because if he wins an acquittal and returns as general counsel at HWI, he’ll be the one holding their purse strings.
Susan is more interested in Marcie Hanson than in David. “She’s like Madame Defarge in A Tale of Two Cities.” The comparison to the female revolutionary who knits the names of the people she wants killed when the revolution finally comes strikes me as apt. “She’s taking notes on how people are treating her husband. Those who treat David well will be taken care of when he returns to power. Those who don’t will lose their heads.”
“When he returns? Not if?”
“Look at them,” Susan says of David and Marcie. “They’re acting like there’s no doubt in their minds. I think they’re absolutely certain David is going to beat the charges.”
“He has great lawyers,” I say, trying to sound carefree myself, though I am far less certain of David’s fate, even given the things I know that David doesn’t. A moment later, I watch David and Marcie take their leave of the corporate attorneys and walk toward us. “Give me a minute with them,” I ask of Susan. I walk to meet the Hansons.
“I need to speak with you—both of you,” I say. Then I lead them to an unoccupied corner of the foyer. “What the hell are you two doing at a gala? Tuxedo and ball gown? An emerald necklace that costs more than most people’s houses? Diamond cuff links? Seriously, what the hell?”
David and Marcie look at each other, smile. “There’s nothing to worry about,” Marcie says.
“We have a plan,” David pipes in.
“A plan? You have a plan? Hey, guys, I’m your lawyer. The show is run according to my plan.”
David casts me a cool look. “Once we’re in court, Mick, it’s all you. Your speeches. Your questions. Your choice of witnesses. Your strategy. But we’re not in court yet. We’re still out here, in the real world. And Marcie and I are taking measures of our own to win the proverbial hearts and minds.”
“But you’re not winning over anyone. Didn’t you see how everyone reacted to your donation? Your speech? They couldn’t have turned their noses away any faster if they’d walked into a room full of dead skunks.”
“The donation and speech weren’t for the people at this party,” David answers. “They were for my jurors. The people who will actually decide whether I spend the rest of my life in prison. The Philadelphians who live in shithole neighborhoods, whose kids have the highest dropout rates in the country. The people whose kids I’ve just given a million dollars to help.”
Now I’m steamed. “First of all, most Philadelphians do not live in ‘shithole’ neighborhoods. They live in working-class neighborhoods, with decent schools. Second, even the truly poor in the city will see your gesture as transparent. People will feel like you’re trying to buy them off. Tomorrow morning there’s going to be a big story in the Inquirer portraying this gambit of yours as nothing more than a bribe. How do you think the jury pool will feel about you then?”
“We’ve taken care of the Inquirer,” Marcie says. And with that, she takes David by the arm and leads him away.
Seeing them leave, Susan joins me. “That looked like it got pretty heated. You better ratchet yourself down a little. This place is full of photographers. You don’t want to see some nasty picture in the paper tomorrow of you arguing with our clients.”
Piper approaches Susan and me at the bar, and I excuse myself to go to the men’s room. As I’m walking, Devlin Walker comes up next to me, asks me how my brother’s doing. My hackles go up instantly.
“Speaking of Tommy,” Devlin say, “how’s his buddy Lawrence Washington? I hear they’re close.”
“How would Tommy even know Lawrence?”
“You think if we brought Tommy in, he could give us some insight as to where Lawrence is holed up?”
“You’re not bringing Tommy in,” I say. “Ever.”
Devlin shrugs. “Well, he could just come in voluntarily. Answer a few questions.”
“Back off, Devlin,” I say, then turn to leave. Walking away, I make up my mind that of all the people who will have to pay to save my family from the Jennifer Yamura fiasco, Devlin Fucking Walker is going to suffer the most.
Later, in the hotel room after Piper falls asleep, I toss and turn. At four, I sit up in a cold sweat. I get off the bed, walk to the bathroom, close the door. I turn on the cold water, cup it in my hands, and splash my face. For a long time, I stare at myself in the mirror.
“Mick?” It’s Piper calling me from the bed. “Are you all right?”
I tell her I’m fine, that something I ate must have disagreed with me.
I climb back into bed. I lie on my back, and Piper puts her arm around me, her face on my chest. We’re both quiet but awake.
After a while, Piper says, “Marcie looked great. Didn’t she?”
“Stunning.”
Another minute passes, then I hear Piper’s voice, small and hesitant. “What’s going to happen, Mick?”
The question hangs in the darkness until I answer. “It’ll work out. I promise. It’ll all work out.”
Piper hugs me tighter. She doesn’t believe me.