“Good afternoon, Mr. Wolf.”
He gave a brief smile to Della, the receptionist.
“Good afternoon. Are they in?”
Theybeing the two principal partners of his firm, Doyle Lewis and Owen Graves.
“They are. You can go in whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
He strode past her and into the hushed suite of offices. Lewis and Graves, a small office of only fourteen attorneys, were known for the tenacious and fierce defense representation of their clients, achieving an astounding ninety-eight percent acquittal rate at jury trial. When seeking a job after working at the Manhattan DA’s office, Wolf had chosen them because they allowed him to split his time between their defense work and the pro-bono cases he considered more important.
He knocked on the wooden door with the nameDoyle Lewisengraved on a plaque.
“Enter.”
He opened the door, and Doyle waved at him. “Wolf, come on in. We have a few minutes.”
Crossing the threshold, he spied Owen Graves at the conference table set farther inside the spacious office. Wolf stood before the massive desk. “Thanks again, to both of you. I know I said it last year, but I appreciate it.”
“Glad to help. How’re you doing? I imagine it’s a rough day.” Doyle Lewis propped his chin on his hand. The overhead light gleamed on his thick, auburn hair, and his sharp brown eyes behind black-framed glasses searched Wolf’s face.
“Have a seat, Wolf.” Owen pulled out the chair next to him.
“Thanks, but I want to get set up beforehand.” He could feel the moisture collect on his upper lip. Damn, he hated discussing any aspect of his private life, but the two men had been nothing but gracious and understanding. It was his own personal humiliation he couldn’t deal with, and he hated this day for more reasons than one.
“Of course.” Owen stood, and his deep voice rumbled with the trace of Southern accent he hadn’t lost even in the forty years he’d lived in New York City. “Let us know if we can do anything.”
Wolf hung his head, the shame still heavy on his shoulders. “There’s nothing, but thank you.” He turned to leave, but Owen’s voice stopped him.
“Wolf, we told you initially when you spoke to us about this, but it looks like it bears repeating. You are not responsible for the actions of others.”
Words failed him, so he merely nodded. Easy for them to say but not for him to feel. If he could replace the blood running through his veins, he’d gladly do so.
“I’ll walk you out.” Owen matched his steps as they left Doyle’s office. “I have a witness interview at eleven.” They parted ways at the corner, with Owen opening the door to an office equal in size to Doyle’s but less formally decorated. “If you need to leave afterward, take the day. You give enough of yourself here. Maybe you want to spend time with friends.”
“Thank you, but no. Working is the best medicine.”
Even if there was no cure for what ate at his soul.
Wolf’s office was located at the midpoint of the long hallway, but that wasn’t his destination. He continued on to the end, where he entered a small, rarely used conference room and shut the door behind him. A computer was the only piece of equipment on the desk, and it was already booted up, so Wolf used the secure password to log on. While he waited for the connection, he opened his slim leather briefcase and pulled out the newspaper clippings he’d saved. He had them memorized by now, but he couldn’t help tormenting himself, so he laid them out on the desk.
SEX SCANDAL HITS THE GOLD COAST.
PROMINENT LAWYER CAUGHT IN CHILD PORNOGRAPHY STING.
VICTOR LUPO FOUND GUILTY IN CHILD SEXUAL ASSAULT CASE.
MINIMUM TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN PRISON FOR DISGRACED LAWYER. FAMILY IS DEVASTATED.
And a smaller article a year later:WIFE OF ATTORNEY CONVICTED IN CHILD SEX STING COMMITS SUICIDE.
Wolf picked up that clipping and stared at his parents’ wedding picture. Smiling for the camera, they looked like any other couple starting out their lives together. His mother had been a beauty queen—Miss Long Island—and the daughter of two doctors. She’d loved entertaining and was known for her extravagant, lavish parties. As a young child, Wolf would be paraded out in his footie pajamas to say hello to the guests; then with a kiss and a pat on his head he’d be sent to his room, but he never went. Instead, he’d sit in the corner behind the huge circular stairs or watch from the window, see the people eating and drinking out on the vast lawn. Sometimes they’d come into the house, kissing and hugging. They’d pass by him but would never speak to him. Most likely they didn’t even notice he was there. They’d disappear into one of the many rooms, emerging later, laughing and slightly rumpled. Occasionally he’d see his mother with men who weren’t his father.
His father wasn’t around much. He’d kept an apartment in the city for when the long work hours kept him there too late during the week, or so he’d claimed. When he did come home, they’d go to the movies and swim in the pool, play tennis or do anything else Wolf wanted, until the time came for his father to leave again.
The screen flashed on, and a dais appeared with the parole board in their seats. Five stern faces that gave nothing away. Wolf set aside the newspaper articles and stared at the computer with the intensity of a hunter to its prey.
