I hadn’t met the husband, and I wasn’t 100 percent sure who was repping him. Nick had said from the beginning that I should be sitting in on Winkley v. Winkley.
“He came to the house yesterday to get some clothes,” Oakleigh went on. “I was there, but I stayed downstairs while he packed. He left with a suit bag, and that’s all. But this morning, I was in the dressing room, and it didn’t look like he’d taken any suits. I started looking around, and you know what he really packed?” Her eyes squinched up, small and mean, and her lips made an ugly, angry bow. I would have to train this face out of her repertoire. No juror should ever see it. “Everything from the upstairs safe. We kept ten thousand in cash there, and some bearer bonds, and my Cartier watch. That was an engagement present, so it’s purely mine. Then at the deposition he looked right at me and said, ‘What watch?’ Smiling like a viper. I swear I can see his old nose when he makes that smile, and I invented his new one. It was my present to him, and he took my watch, so I should get that nose back. I should get to tear it right off his smug face.”
She stomped her foot. She was wearing this season’s clompy Balmain booties. They cost about nine hundred dollars, each, which meant one of her shoes was a fair trade for both of mine.
At least I had her in a conversation now. “Ms. Evans, if this goes to a jury, you need a lawyer who can put this morning’s depo tape into a context.”
She seemed to be listening, but all at once she sidestepped and went past me, saying, “Thank you. I’d best go find me one.”
A second later, the elevator dinged, arriving. She’d seen the call light go out and done a perfect end run. I shouldered forward to stop the doors from closing behind her. Her heels had a good two inches on mine, but I was tall, and she was tiny. I got a pretty good loom in.
I said, “There are a ton of lawyers in this town who can get you a fair settlement. But between you and me? I don’t think you’re interested in that. We’re past fair, here, aren’t we? He took us past fair when he stole your watch.” I racked my brain for any bit of info from her file that I could use. Her husband owned his own company, I thought. Consulting? I couldn’t remember, so I kept it vague. “You don’t want alimony trickling in for a few years. You want to take that company he’s so proud of, and hack it up, and set the bits on fire. Make him watch while we sell the burning pieces for a chunk of capital.”
Oakleigh’s eyes seemed to focus on me for the first time, so I kept going. “You want to raze his fields and salt his earth so nothing ever grows there again. You want to drag him through thorns until he’s throwing all your rightful money at you with a shovel just to make it stop.”
I’d given variations of this speech before. It was my standard BANK case speech, and I was good at it; I gave it all I had.
“You want his sins unearthed and dragged screaming into sunshine. You want your own small sins explained, so it’s clear you were driven to them. By him.” Oakleigh had stilled, and her neck had lengthened, her shoulders curling toward me as I spoke. I leaned in toward her another inch, let her feel how much taller I was. “That’s what I do. It’s what I do best, in fact. And all the things you want? Your husband wants them, too. He wants to go to a Denny’s one day and have you be his waitress. That’s what he’s telling his lawyer, right now. This morning, you gave him ammunition. What else does he have on you?” Her long lashes swept down, so thick they had to be extensions. When she looked back up, I smiled as coldly as I could. “You want me. Between him and you. Between you and his lawyer. Who’s he got?”
“Dean Macon?” she said. “Everyone says he’s really good.”
“I’m better,” I said. “I’ve eaten Macon from the ground up, more than once.” This was true on several levels, back before I’d traded in my libido for panic attacks.
I had her. I knew I had her, but before I could close, the elevator began making a loud, obnoxious beeping noise, complaining that I had held it for too long. The spell I’d cast on Oakleigh broke.
“Let’s schedule a meeting, Oakleigh,” I said, too loud and too late.
“I’ll think about it.” She waved a hand at the blaring doors. “Ugh, that sound!”
I pulled my card out of my bag and held it toward her, trying to recapture her. “You’re going to want this.”
I didn’t step back. Oakleigh compressed her plumped lips, as if I was handing her a dead bug. I stood my ground, though, ready to let the elevator shriek until we both went deaf and died of old age.