“It seems like it might.” She gestured toward his hand.
He pulled his arm back. “It doesn’t,” he stressed. “Some around here, sure, but I don’t see them killing her. Personally, I’m ready to golf and travel more, and put decades of eighty-hour weeks behind me. It’s time I retire and enjoy all that I’ve worked so hard for.” As he spoke, the fine lines in his brow smoothed out, causing Amanda to believe him.
“Thank you. We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us,” she told him.
O’Neil eased out of his chair and pushed it back into the table. He left the room without a word.
After allowing time for him to get down the hall, Amanda told Trent, “Interesting guy.”
“Ask me, and he was too level about the whole thing.”
“You heard him. He’s been around. He’s a little immune to threats of violence. Dominique seems to be.”
“Well, there’s no explaining her, and you could be right, but I just don’t know if O’Neil was completely forthcoming.”
“He is a lawyer, so I doubt he was.” What she wasn’t certain about was whether his lack of emotion was something they needed to worry about.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The time was moving along, and around eleven, Amanda made herself a black coffee. She and Trent had spoken with ten employees, leaving fifteen if it wasn’t for the fact five people were out of the office today. Between speaking with employees, they flipped through the written threats. No one was flagging as incriminating, but could they expect it would be that easy?
One person they spoke with was the other senior partner, Dalton McClain. He was fifteen years younger than O’Neil and ambitious. McClain seemed more affected by the situation than any of the others they spoke to, but he was looking forward to the acquisition. He expressed excitement at the challenge of being in a larger market. Amanda swore she saw dollar signs come into his eyes more than once. McClain was also generous in his praise for Dominique. Amanda felt confident in concluding that McClain didn’t hold any ill will against his boss, and therefore had no reason to order a hit on her.
A man in his mid-thirties entered the room without knocking, having bathed in cologne. He was dressed in a black suit that was snug on his frame. She’d guess he put on a bit of weight or muscle and hadn’t bothered updating his wardrobe.
She offered him a tight smile and pointed at the chair across from them, but he dropped into the one at the end of the table.
Alrighty then…“We’re Detectives Steele and?—”
“I know who you are.” The man undid the button on his suit jacket and laid a hand down the front to smooth the fabric.
She imagined their names had made several rounds inside the firm since their arrival. “You’ll need to tell us who you are.”
The man’s face flinched, as if she’d wounded his pride by not recognizing him. “Chris Ritter.”
“And your position with the firm?” She vaguely recalled his face from the firm’s website.
“Junior partner. I’m the youngest the firm has ever had. I’ve been here since I graduated and passed the bar.”
The website said the firm’s doors opened seventeen years ago. “Which was when?” It’s like the guy set himself up to be questioned. Not exactly a strong trait to have if it translated to the courtroom. He’d always be batting away issues he raised himself.
“Twelve years ago.”
“And how do you feel about Dominique Sharp moving the business to DC?”
All the arrogance left his eyes and was replaced with fire. He clenched his jaw and said nothing. Though he didn’t need to say a word when his body language spoke on his behalf.
“I’m going to wager a guess here that you aren’t too happy about it,” Amanda said.
“No.” The small word sounded like it took effort to push out.
“Why is that?” Trent asked, beating Amanda to the same counter.
“I’ve worked my ass off for Ms. Sharp for twelve years, and now on the cusp of being promoted to senior partner, she closes shop here and moves on.”
“Washington isn’t that far. Many people commute,” Amanda reasoned, noting how formally he referred to his boss.
“I’m not sure that’s going to work for me.”
