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"Well, we'll hang it for a while and eventually take it off."
"You're not serious, Kevin. I can't have that thing hanging on my walls. People will..."
"Just for a while, Miriam."
"But she will understand. She said so herself. She admitted it was special, different, and she said
she would understand if someone didn't like it."
"You can't do that," he repeated, shaking his head.
"Why not? This is my house, Kevin. I should be able to decide what I put in it and what I don't."
"I'm not saying you shouldn't, Miriam." He thought for a moment. "I don't want to hurt Paul and
Helen Scholefield any more than they have been."
"What? What do you mean?"
"On my way to the office, I met Helen in the hallway and realized she was having emotional problems.
Paul stopped by and we talked, and he told me they got very depressing news yesterday. Seems
she is incapable of having children."
"Oh."
"That, on top of their other problems ..,"
"Yes." She looked at the painting. "No wonder she's doing things like that. All right. For a while
we'll hang it. I'll put it in that corner where it will be somewhat inconspicuous, not that anyone
coming in here could ignore it long."
"That's my girl," Kevin said and kissed her. "Now, let's see about that shower, huh?"
She smiled, and they continued out. Miriam looked back once and shook her head. "Isn't it
ironic, Kev? One woman's tragedy was she gave birth and another's is that she can't."
"Yeah. Well, the best thing we can do is be enthusiastic whenever we're around Helen," he
said.
It sounded familiar, and Miriam remembered that was what Jean had said Mr. Milton had told
them. "Did Mr. Milton tell you that?"
"Mr. Milton?" He laughed. "I know I've been raving about the guy, but really, Miriam, I can
do some of my own thinking, too." .
"Of course you can," she said quickly, but still, it did seem odd.
8
Stanley Rothberg sat back in the chair to the right of Mr. Milton. As soon as he entered the
conference room, Kevin quickly scrutinized him. Rothberg looked considerably older than
forty-one. He tried to hide the premature bald spot at the center of his head by brushing long
strands of his thin, dirt-blond hair over the top. Although he was a tall man, standing at least six
feet three, he had such an emphatic turn in his shoulders, he looked almost hunchbacked. The bags
under his eyes, the deep creases in his face, and the black stubble beard gave him the crusty look
of a late-night bartender.
So despite being dressed in a Pierre Cardin dark blue sports jacket and slacks, Rothberg had a
seediness about him that triggered all sorts of alarms in Kevin's mind. He didn't like the sleepy
look in Rothberg's eyes. He knew juries would interpret it as a look of guilt, slyness, deceit. Even the
man's smile left him cold. One corner lifted higher than the other, making it look more like a
sneer.
Kevin's father used to tell him never to judge a book by its cover. He was referring to all the wealthy
clients he had in his accounting firm who looked and dressed like paupers, but after Kevin had
graduated from law school and his father used that expression again, Kevin had to disagree.
"I understand what you mean, Dad," he said, "but if I had to take one of those clients to court, I'd
dress him so he looked distinguished. Juries do judge a book by its cover."
First impressions were too often final impressions, Kevin thought, and his first impression of
Stanley Rothberg was that the man was guilty. He seemed capable of pushing his wife over the
brink. He looked self-indulgent, disdainful, and boorish.
"Stanley," John Milton said, "this is Kevin Taylor."
"How do you do, Mr. Rothberg," Kevin said, extending his hand. Rothberg stared at it a moment
and then widened his smile when he reached over the table to shake hands.
"Your boss says you're the whiz kid. Says I shouldn't worry about putting my life into your
hands."
"I'll do my best, Mr. Rothberg."
"Question is," Rothberg replied quickly, "is your best going to be enough?" His smile faded.
Kevin looked at Mr. Milton, whose eyes were so intently focused on him, he felt as if they
burned into his very soul. Kevin straightened up.
"More than enough," he said, unable to keep out a touch of arrogance, "and if you'll help me,
we'll devastate the prosecution's case against you so completely, there'll be no question about your
innocence,"
Rothberg smiled and nodded. "That's good." He turned to John Milton. "That's good," he repeated,
gesturing toward Kevin.
"I wouldn't put you in Kevin's hands if I didn't have complete confidence in his ability to win your
vindication, Stanley. And you can be confident that you will have the full resources of my office
at your disposal.
"Also, Kevin's youth will work to your favor. Everyone's expecting you to hire one of the
more prestigious criminal attorneys in town, to use your wealth to buy yourself an established name
and therefore gang up on the advocate of the people. But you're confident of your innocence. You
don't need a high-priced attorney who has a media image. You need a competent attorney who can
present the facts and counter any circumstantial evidence that suggests your guilt. People will be
impressed."
"Yeah." Rothberg nodded. "Yeah, I see what you mean."
"What they don't know," John Milton said, smiling, "is that Kevin is more talented than most of
the media-hyped attorneys in town. He has natural instincts when it comes to courtroom skill."
Milton gazed up at Kevin with admiration. "He can be tenacious and ruthless when it comes to
defending his clients. If I were on trial myself, I would want a man like him defending me."
Even though John Milton's adulation rang sincere, Kevin felt uncomfortable with it. It was almost
as if he were being congratulated for being a good hit man. Rothberg, however, was very
impressed.
"Oh, I see. Well, good, good. So then, what can I do to help myself?" Rothberg asked.
"That's the spirit," Mr. Milton said. He stood up. "I'll leave you in Kevin's competent hands.
Kevin, you know where I am if you need me. I'd say good luck, Stanley," he said, looking down
at Rothberg, "but this isn't a matter of luck. It's a matter of skill, and you're in the hands of a very
skillful man." He patted Kevin on the shoulder. "Carry on," he said.
Kevin nodded, sat down, and opened his briefcase to begin doing just what Mr. Milton had wanted
him to do: impress Stanley Rothberg with his grasp of the facts. He began by discussing
Maxine's illness and then asked questions about the nurse. Kevin noticed that Rothberg's replies
were tight, cautious. He was already behaving as though he were on the witness stand being
cross-examined by the district attorney.
"I hope you understand, Mr. Rothberg..."
"Call me Stanley. We're going to be livin' pretty close to each other."
"Stanley. I hope you understand that for me to do the best job I can, there can't be any surprises."
"Surprises?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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"Well, we'll hang it for a while and eventually take it off."
"You're not serious, Kevin. I can't have that thing hanging on my walls. People will..."
"Just for a while, Miriam."
"But she will understand. She said so herself. She admitted it was special, different, and she said
she would understand if someone didn't like it."
"You can't do that," he repeated, shaking his head.
"Why not? This is my house, Kevin. I should be able to decide what I put in it and what I don't."
"I'm not saying you shouldn't, Miriam." He thought for a moment. "I don't want to hurt Paul and
Helen Scholefield any more than they have been."
"What? What do you mean?"
"On my way to the office, I met Helen in the hallway and realized she was having emotional problems.
Paul stopped by and we talked, and he told me they got very depressing news yesterday. Seems
she is incapable of having children."
"Oh."
"That, on top of their other problems ..,"
"Yes." She looked at the painting. "No wonder she's doing things like that. All right. For a while
we'll hang it. I'll put it in that corner where it will be somewhat inconspicuous, not that anyone
coming in here could ignore it long."
"That's my girl," Kevin said and kissed her. "Now, let's see about that shower, huh?"
She smiled, and they continued out. Miriam looked back once and shook her head. "Isn't it
ironic, Kev? One woman's tragedy was she gave birth and another's is that she can't."
"Yeah. Well, the best thing we can do is be enthusiastic whenever we're around Helen," he
said.
It sounded familiar, and Miriam remembered that was what Jean had said Mr. Milton had told
them. "Did Mr. Milton tell you that?"
"Mr. Milton?" He laughed. "I know I've been raving about the guy, but really, Miriam, I can
do some of my own thinking, too." .
"Of course you can," she said quickly, but still, it did seem odd.
8
Stanley Rothberg sat back in the chair to the right of Mr. Milton. As soon as he entered the
conference room, Kevin quickly scrutinized him. Rothberg looked considerably older than
forty-one. He tried to hide the premature bald spot at the center of his head by brushing long
strands of his thin, dirt-blond hair over the top. Although he was a tall man, standing at least six
feet three, he had such an emphatic turn in his shoulders, he looked almost hunchbacked. The bags
under his eyes, the deep creases in his face, and the black stubble beard gave him the crusty look
of a late-night bartender.
So despite being dressed in a Pierre Cardin dark blue sports jacket and slacks, Rothberg had a
seediness about him that triggered all sorts of alarms in Kevin's mind. He didn't like the sleepy
look in Rothberg's eyes. He knew juries would interpret it as a look of guilt, slyness, deceit. Even the
man's smile left him cold. One corner lifted higher than the other, making it look more like a
sneer.
Kevin's father used to tell him never to judge a book by its cover. He was referring to all the wealthy
clients he had in his accounting firm who looked and dressed like paupers, but after Kevin had
graduated from law school and his father used that expression again, Kevin had to disagree.
"I understand what you mean, Dad," he said, "but if I had to take one of those clients to court, I'd
dress him so he looked distinguished. Juries do judge a book by its cover."
First impressions were too often final impressions, Kevin thought, and his first impression of
Stanley Rothberg was that the man was guilty. He seemed capable of pushing his wife over the
brink. He looked self-indulgent, disdainful, and boorish.
"Stanley," John Milton said, "this is Kevin Taylor."
"How do you do, Mr. Rothberg," Kevin said, extending his hand. Rothberg stared at it a moment
and then widened his smile when he reached over the table to shake hands.
"Your boss says you're the whiz kid. Says I shouldn't worry about putting my life into your
hands."
"I'll do my best, Mr. Rothberg."
"Question is," Rothberg replied quickly, "is your best going to be enough?" His smile faded.
Kevin looked at Mr. Milton, whose eyes were so intently focused on him, he felt as if they
burned into his very soul. Kevin straightened up.
"More than enough," he said, unable to keep out a touch of arrogance, "and if you'll help me,
we'll devastate the prosecution's case against you so completely, there'll be no question about your
innocence,"
Rothberg smiled and nodded. "That's good." He turned to John Milton. "That's good," he repeated,
gesturing toward Kevin.
"I wouldn't put you in Kevin's hands if I didn't have complete confidence in his ability to win your
vindication, Stanley. And you can be confident that you will have the full resources of my office
at your disposal.
"Also, Kevin's youth will work to your favor. Everyone's expecting you to hire one of the
more prestigious criminal attorneys in town, to use your wealth to buy yourself an established name
and therefore gang up on the advocate of the people. But you're confident of your innocence. You
don't need a high-priced attorney who has a media image. You need a competent attorney who can
present the facts and counter any circumstantial evidence that suggests your guilt. People will be
impressed."
"Yeah." Rothberg nodded. "Yeah, I see what you mean."
"What they don't know," John Milton said, smiling, "is that Kevin is more talented than most of
the media-hyped attorneys in town. He has natural instincts when it comes to courtroom skill."
Milton gazed up at Kevin with admiration. "He can be tenacious and ruthless when it comes to
defending his clients. If I were on trial myself, I would want a man like him defending me."
Even though John Milton's adulation rang sincere, Kevin felt uncomfortable with it. It was almost
as if he were being congratulated for being a good hit man. Rothberg, however, was very
impressed.
"Oh, I see. Well, good, good. So then, what can I do to help myself?" Rothberg asked.
"That's the spirit," Mr. Milton said. He stood up. "I'll leave you in Kevin's competent hands.
Kevin, you know where I am if you need me. I'd say good luck, Stanley," he said, looking down
at Rothberg, "but this isn't a matter of luck. It's a matter of skill, and you're in the hands of a very
skillful man." He patted Kevin on the shoulder. "Carry on," he said.
Kevin nodded, sat down, and opened his briefcase to begin doing just what Mr. Milton had wanted
him to do: impress Stanley Rothberg with his grasp of the facts. He began by discussing
Maxine's illness and then asked questions about the nurse. Kevin noticed that Rothberg's replies
were tight, cautious. He was already behaving as though he were on the witness stand being
cross-examined by the district attorney.
"I hope you understand, Mr. Rothberg..."
"Call me Stanley. We're going to be livin' pretty close to each other."
"Stanley. I hope you understand that for me to do the best job I can, there can't be any surprises."
"Surprises?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]