Jemma shook her head. ‘I know we’ve hashed this out a few times, Rohan, but I’m not persuaded this course is ethical. Either for us or for him.’
Rohan sighed with exaggerated patience. ‘You know an amicable divorce is a rare thing. When I spoke with Wilkins last week’—he held up a hand to still her protest—‘divorceproceedings, so there was no need for you to be present—I had him table an unofficial register of his assets. Particularly those that are a little less obvious, but that he’d have a duty to disclose, or Celine’s lawyer might be able to unearth. Trust me when I say we need to close this as quickly as possible, with the least attention thrown his way. If it costs Wilkins a bit upfront to play nice, keep Celine sweet and grease the wheels so your case is dropped and the divorce cordial, I assure you it’s far less than he’d lose in court if the true extent of his holdings comes out.’
‘I don’t deny your logic. I’m talking about integrity.’ It surprised her to realise that the legal but slightly underhand tactics left her feeling uncomfortable.
‘What happened to win at all costs? You’re losing your edge, Jemma,’ Rohan said with a rich chuckle. ‘Fortunately for us, Celine has expensive taste and Wilkins has little integrity.’ He made the pronouncement with an air of finality, as though his decision should absolve her conscience.
‘Yeah, I recall you said that she’s renting somewhere exorbitant. Which reminds me, I wouldn’t have picked you as a beach person.’
Rohan focused on his ornate gold cufflink, twisting it just so. ‘You called that one: won’t catch me at a beach unless there are deck chairs, and mai tais on tap.’
She frowned. She wasn’t letting the latest in Rohan’s series of pointless evasions and pathological lies go unchallenged. ‘I was at—’ She stopped as the intercom flashed on the phone on her desk.
‘Good, you’re here. Jemma, come on in.’ As usual, Gerard didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
Rohan grinned triumphantly.
Tien screwed up his face in commiseration, then had to shove his glasses back up his nose with his forefinger.
Jemma picked up the thick Wilkins file—undoubtedly not as thick as it would have been had Rohan shared all the information—and made her way quickly to Gerard’s office.
‘Seat,’ he said, inclining his head toward the leather chair on the opposite side of his desk.
Jemma knew it was a deliberate ploy—those chairs were inches lower than the managing director’s, instantly putting the detainee at a disadvantage as they peered across the metres of polished oak desk.
‘You’ve been spending quite some time in the rural districts,’ Gerard said, opening the conversation quickly as always. Time was money. Literally. ‘East, isn’t it? Settlers Bridge?’
She was surprised that her boss knew not only where she had been, but where the town lay in relation to Adelaide. Instead of replying, she nodded; she wasn’t fool enough to risk making an involuntary admission to anything.
‘What’s the legal representation status out that way?’
She thanked the twist of fate that had her researching precisely that the previous day. ‘Nothing in the town or the immediate region—that’s why I took the pro bono case there. Nearest office is in Murray Bridge.’
‘And the range of cases?’
‘Historically, an interesting mix. All of our regular scope, but also more rurally focused issues, such as predatory pricing on the sharefarming, which is a highly competitive deal out there. Land and water rights disputes, some breach of contract.’
‘Not anything that’s likely to make it to trial, then?’
‘No, more your bread-and-butter cases.’ Unimportant—except they meant everything to the livelihood of the people living in the country. ‘There is some potentially interesting stuff coming up with the government’s plan to run a newhighway through the district, though, as the rumour is that’s going to lead to forced acquisitions.’ Paul had given her the heads-up about that hot topic among the farmers, suggesting she come along to a progress association meeting the following month. No one liked to cede land that had been in their family for decades, not unless the price was more than fair, anyway. And Jemma knew the farmers wouldn’t get that without someone fighting on their behalf. A thrill ran through her at the thought of battling the might of the government.
Gerard nodded pensively. ‘It’s, what? Dairy farms out that way along the river?’
‘Some. But more sheep and wheat. Some of the properties are thousands of hectares and most of the farms are generational.’
‘So we’re talking representing the graziers in a country that’s made its reputation on the sheep’s back. Interesting.’
The moment he said it Jemma felt almost … territorial. Gerard’s interest would be in any kudos for GB&A, not in potentially righting wrongs.
He leaned across the desk and twitched his fingers, signalling for her to push the Wilkins file his way. ‘Rohan tells me he’s been manoeuvring to get your client’s charge dropped or dismissed.’
She wasn’t entirely sure whether that was a question. Gerard had a fondness for making pronouncements. So she stayed silent.
Gerard flipped the file open, turning pages as though he could possibly absorb even a tiny amount of the information amassed there. ‘What do you think of his strategy?’
She licked her lips. It would be easy to dissemble, act as though she and Rohan were in accord, working for the best interests of the firm … but a sudden memory of whatHamish had said stopped her:Principles aren’t principles if you get to choose when they apply. She took a measured breath and spoke confidently, as always. ‘Although I can see Rohan’s point, I’m not on board.’
Gerard nodded, closing the file and leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands on his stomach and steepled his fingers. ‘Perhaps you can explain your colleague’s plan?’
