“I’m very sorry. It was an oversight, and it won’t happen again once your case is transferred. I’m not actually at the firm anymore, so you can see it makes sense that I shouldn’t continue to handle your case. All you need to do is sign this letter, and I’ll get the ball rolling to have another attorney assigned to you.” I pull the letter from the file on the table and a golf pencil.
Shit. Should I even give him the pencil? They’re permissible, but couldn’t he still stab someone with it?
Rather than reaching for the pencil, he leans back in his seat and rests his hands near his lap, as close as the shackles will let him get.
“No.”
What? He can’t say no. I mean, he obviously can, but that’s not how this is supposed to go.
“Mr. Cardelli, I don’t think you’re considering this fully. Another much more senior attorney from the firm will be assigned to your case,” I say, crossing my fingers below the table because I honestly have no idea who will be working on the case. But if I know the firm, they should do damage control and not give it to a junior associate again. “This is a good thing. Actually, a great thing for you.”
His chapped lips form a smirk that stirs up an icky feeling in my stomach. “You want off this case bad and you can’t get off without my say-so.” His words are mocking, almost triumphant.
“The court may remove me anyway.” I cross my arms when I deliver the bluff.
“I don’t know about that. But what I do know is that in here,” he jerks his head behind him toward the door, “and on the outside, you don’t get something for nothing.” He leans forward again, resting both forearms on the table. “So you’re gonna do something for me, and then we’ll see about getting you uninvolved.”
I didn’t come here prepared to bargain with the guy. Actually, I didn’t expect him to put up any kind of resistance when offered a more senior and experienced lawyer. What can he possibly want from me?
“What are you talking about?” I keep my tone firm and cool. I will not let him know that this has me rattled.
“The Innocence Project. You’re going to lay out my case and send it to them so I can get out of here.”
Shit. That’s what he wants. I stare at the man in shackles with dead eyes and a cruel mouth, knowing that there’s no way I can, in good conscience, help him get free.
But the Innocence Project could take years to deal with his case. They’re absolutely inundated with requests, and besides, whatever this guy was locked up for, he probably did do it, so there would be no grounds for releasing him.
“You give me an outline of the facts of your case and why you think you’ve been wrongfully convicted, and I’ll put it together in a way that’s logical and organized for you to submit. Right now, right here, and you sign this letter before I leave the room.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. We still have twelve minutes. How is it possible only three minutes have passed?
“Then you better hurry and start writing, girl, because this is going to take the whole time. If we’re not done when time’s up, I’m not signing anything until you come back to finish the job. Then I’ll sign your shit so you can get off the case and go get your nails done, or whatever fancy broads like you spend your time doing.” He practically spits out those last words.
I pull out a legal pad and retrieve the pencil from the table. “All right. You’ve got a deal. Let’s go.”
He looks around the room, as if checking to see who might overhear. The guard is standing eight feet away, his thumbs tucked into the belt of his uniform.
Finally, Cardelli starts. “Last time you were here, I probably woulda gotten shanked for even opening my mouth about this shit and naming names, but now that the gossip mill says that rat bastard Casso is going down for murder, shit is changing.”
Everything in me stills when he says the name Casso.
Once again I find myself standing before my father’s desk, but this time, I’m not here because of something I’ve done. I’m here to find out if my help is needed to get this fucking mess under control.
“You think they have the balls to bring charges?”
Dom, still looking every inch the indifferent king in his tall-backed leather chair, raises and lowers his shoulders in a shrug. “Not if they know what’s good for them.”
“Would the charges stick if they brought them?” The question is one I wouldn’t have dared to ask years ago.
“Fuck no. Not only because I didn’t kill the bastard, but because nothing ever sticks when they bring it. I’ve been clean for years. There’s nothing tying me to any of that shit.”
This I believe because, like I told Greer, Dom Casso doesn’t get his hands dirty. I never figured he killed her uncle, but I assume he knows who did.
“You sure they can’t tie you back to it?” Once again, I’m pushing the boundaries of what’s smart. Dom does not like to be questioned by anyone. And doubted? That’s grounds for a verbal flaying.
“You think I’m an idiot, boy?”
His tone and words take me back to being fifteen again for a second, but I’m not that kid. I’m a grown man and here to see if he needs help.