If there was anyone whose practice was more exciting than Eddie’s, it was Leo Hirschman’s. He was the only lawyer at the firm who had successfully established a bicoastal entertainment practice. About fifteen years younger than Eddie, he was both a litigator and dealmaker—rare, since most lawyers specialized in one or the other.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Damn, straight to the top. New York’s too small for you now. I’m adding West Coast domination to your résumé.”
I stared at the email.One of Eddie’s associates.“This is ... nuts.”
Before Charlie could respond, my phone rang again. I recognized Andie’s LA cell phone number.
“Hi Andie,” I answered cheerfully.
“Eddie said you’re coming to LA to talk to Amanda and Maureen?”
I nodded into the phone. “Yes, we’re hoping they can meet on Thursday afternoon or Friday morning. Speaking of, do you have their phone numbers?”
“I gave them to Eddie’s assistant. You should take a few other meetings while you’re out there. When do you fly back?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“That’s dumb. LA is way more fun than New York on weekends. Stay till Sunday.”
I chuckled nervously. “I don’t think I can. Anyway, I’m just prepping interview outlines for Amanda and Maureen. Can I call you if I have questions?”
“Sure. Okay, I’m boarding. See you guys in La-La Land.”
Building a strong defense would require talking to all the different people Andie had worked with, and these two women had been back-to-back personal assistants who could hopefully give us a picture of what it was like working with Andie. There was so much to go through, it was almost overwhelming. Most of their communications with her had been on text, which meant painstakingly reading thousands of messages and tagging what could be helpful to prove Andie wasn’t guilty of operating an illegal gambling business.
I had never done anything like this in my life. Everything I’d learned in law school was abstract and theoretical compared to what I actually needed to do to succeed as a lawyer. It felt like her fate was in our hands. I had to get this right.
Chapter Thirteen
I spent the day combing through the documents we’d pulled from Andie’s phones and laptops—thousands of emails, texts, and spreadsheets. Everything had been uploaded into a fully searchable online review tool. I’d asked IT for a second monitor and now felt like a Wall Street trader.
I couldn’t believe I was getting paid to read years of private correspondence for someone like Andie. Her world was filled with celebrities I’d grown up watching in movies or on TV.
By Wednesday morning, I had written two interview outlines and tagged three dozen relevant emails.
It suddenly hit me that I still hadn’t made a reservation for dinner that night. Ben had said he was staying close to Union Square, so I emailed the hostess at Union Square Cafe, where Connor was friends with the maître d’, and asked for a table for two at 8 p.m.
The sun was just beginning to set as I walked down Fifth Avenue, past the New York Public Library toward Union Square. In my fantasy, we were having dinner but ten years in the future. We could make lighthearted jokes about the utility of a starter marriage. He was happily remarried with a family. I would be in a relationship with someone who wanted the same things from life. We’d each have our own happy ending.
The air outside was considerably cooler than when I left the office. I nervously chewed my lower lip as I crossed Thirty-Fourth Street. The closer I got to the restaurant, the more nervous I felt. I suddenly wished I’d made up an excuse. I could have said I was out of town. The lasttime we saw each other had been agonizing. He’d been brutally honest about how angry he was. Would this time be even worse?
I spotted him as soon as I walked in, reading a book at the bar. He must have sensed my presence—looming, unsure, radiating nerves—because he looked up and waved me over.
“Here we go,” I said to myself.
Ben stood up and gave me a hug that felt both genuine and formal. Then he stood back with his hands on his hips.
“Damn, Sam. Can’t believe it, but you’re a city girl. Love this place too. Excellent old-fashioned,” he said, nodding at the bartender.
“1942, please,” I said as I eased into the seat next to Ben. I hadn’t really known what to expect, but his upbeat, casual demeanor was throwing me off.
I suddenly wanted to confess how nervous I felt, to overexplain just how much I wasn’t sure what was real and what was pretense. I couldn’t figure out which note to land on.
“It’s good to see you,” I said honestly.
It was. Helookedhealthy. His olive skin was more tanned than when I’d seen him over the summer, and even though it had only been a couple of months, he was noticeably more muscular.
“Really, you look great. How are you?”
