If you look at Rachel Larson-Reilly’s portrait on the wall, it’s uncanny how little Lev’s mother has aged since she joined the family firm fresh out of law school.
Another thing that has always surprised me is how similar Lev looks to his mom. He’s her spitting image, just the male version of her; the same way Chance is a dead ringer for Dad and Atlas and I looked more like our late mother.
“Levin, Ares.” Rachel greets me with a polite smile, but she goes on the tips of her toes to kiss Lev’s cheek. “What do we owe the pleasure of this visit? Is everything ok?”
Lev has always complained that his parents are too busy and have always spent very minimal time with him, and he isn’t wrong in general. Although the Reillys have always made sure that Lev didn’t want for nothing, their careers have always been their focus.
That doesn’t mean that they don’t care about him, however. I hope Lev sees the way his mom’s eyes soften whenever she sees him.
I know that isn’t a justification for their hands-off, distracted parenting, but I guess different people love different ways. I just wish my best friend didn’t feel like an afterthought for his family, because despite the way they live their lives, I don’t think they don’t care about him.
When Lev opens his mouth to answer his mom’s question, I shake my head.
“I need some legal advice,” I begin cautiously. “And I was hoping you and Chris would agree to be my attorneys.”
Christopher’s brows knit together. “Both of us? Ares, I’m sure you know that Rachel and I practice wildly different types of law. Do you need a corporate lawyer or a criminal attorney?”
I don’t want to say anything until I know that our conversation isn’t being recorded or listened to.
Thinking quickly on my feet, I say something that I’m pretty sure will tip Lev’s parents off that something is odd. “That depends on your fees. I want to start a new company, and I have some questions about my trust fund. I need to know what I can and can’t do with it and I don’t want to break the law from the get go.”
“Oh,” Chris says. “Of course we wouldn’t?—”
“I need a quote of your hourly rate in writing, please.” I arch my eyebrows to stop them from offering me free legal counsel, like Lev’s dad was about to do.
Lev’s parents look at one another, probably still unsure about what’s going on.
“Here you go, darling.” Rachel grabs a notepad and a pen from the table and hands them to me. “Write down how much you can spend, and Chris and I will give you a counteroffer. If you can’t afford us, I’m sure some of our junior associates will be able to help you.”
She scribbles something before passing me the notepad.
What’s going on? Are you guys in trouble?
I jot down another question.
Can you guarantee us that this room isn’t under surveillance? Your house might have been bugged by one of your biggest clients.
They know.
It becomes clear the second they read my question, and a look passes between her and her husband.
“Well then,” Christopher Reilly’s determined expression is uncannily similar to Lev’s. “I think we have a deal. Rachel and I can represent you. But we haven’t looked into the intricacies of trust fund rules and inheritance law in years. So we’re going to have to consult some of our law books in the office archive. If you follow us, we can get what we need, and we can discuss your case while we search.”
Leave your cell phones here.He scribbles.
If I’m right, this means that Lev’s parents are aware that they’re under surveillance, and they have somewhere in the office where they’re sure they have privacy.
We follow them down two flights of stairs, into the basement of the old building.
Christopher ushers us into a room that looks exactly like one would expect from an archive; rows and rows of high shelves filled to the brim with law books and binders with the countless cases the firm has worked on during the years.
Lev’s parents walk deeper into the room, and it almost feels like there’s no end to the shelves until we reach the opposite end of the t-shaped archive.
A long table and chairs, similar to those in the boardroom, are arranged in a functional but welcoming meeting area.
“We can talk here. The room is clean.” Christopher says.
“What’s going on?”
