slurp, then added, “Especially now that your nemesis has been removed.” Randall Walker turned back to the vista. He shook his head in admiration. “My, my.”
Logan demanded, “Could you tell us why you called this meeting?”
“Why, I thought that would be clear by now. I wish to discuss Marcus Glenwood.” Before they could recover, he continued. “Logan, you have been with this firm for eight years, if my information is correct. And Ms. Rikkers, you’ve been here a bit longer now, isn’t that right?”
Suzie gave Logan a startled glance, searching for her cue. “Almost nine.”
“Actually, it’s ten next month, isn’t that correct?” He continued to address his questions to the window. “Logan, you are from Baltimore, do I have that right?”
“I fail to see—”
“University of Maryland undergrad and UVA law. Married a woman from Raleigh who was studying art history at that fine Jeffersonian establishment. Three lovely children, two boys and one girl who is approaching her second birthday as we speak.” Another noisy sip. “And you, Ms. Rikkers, hail from Chicago, our nation’s fine and windy city. Undergrad and law school at Northwestern. And still unmarried, a fact I find most astonishing. It must be from preference, certainly not from lack of opportunity.” His speech held a courtly air, as though bestowing a royal welcome. “Marcus was born in the Philadelphia area. Although his roots are mostly from these parts.”
Suzie Rikkers’ voice had the metallic quality of having been pounded flat on an anvil. “Why have you been checking up on me?”
“That’s simple enough, Ms. Rikkers. I like to know the people I’m addressing.” Randall finally turned from the window and slid into the seat directly across the table from them. “Now perhaps you would be so kind as to give me your impressions of your recently departed colleague.”
Logan studied the man across from them. In the space of a few minutes Randall Walker had entered their domain and wrested control, and done so with the kindliest of manners. The man certainly lived up to his reputation. Randall Walker had been the youngest person ever to serve upon the federal appellate bench. After holding that position for eight years, he had formed a partnership that now included two former senators and a retired governor among its ranks. Randall served on the board of over a dozen Fortune 500 companies,and acted as outside counsel to another five or six. He charged 450 dollars an hour, the highest rate of any lawyer in the state.
“Marcus Glenwood is history,” Suzie Rikkers snapped. “That’s all you need to know.”
Randall nodded benignly. “He must have been quite a good trial attorney, to have risen to partnership in less than six years.”
“So-so. He had great connections.” Suzie’s nails did a nervous dance upon the table. “Most of them through his wife. Her family was serious old money.”
“His wife, yes. You represented her in their divorce, what was her name?”
“Carol Clay Rice.”
“That’s right. As in Rice Communications and the Rice Foundation.”
Logan disliked being blindsided, and he distrusted the man’s courtly manner. He remained silent and let Suzie respond. “Marcus was dirt-poor. I learned that from his former mother-in-law. His parents split up and disappeared when he was about ten. He was raised by his grandparents.”
Randall smiled delightedly, as though Suzie was bestowing the wisdom of the ages. “Did you ever work with him on a trial?”
“Once. He went down in flames.”
Logan listened to Suzie twist the truth as if she were arguing a desperate case, and wondered how much Randall already knew. For example, did he know that Suzie’s account was a pack of self-serving lies, that Marcus had taken over the case from a partner dying of cancer? Logan had been present when Marcus, during his first meeting with the client, had declared that taking the case to trial would do little
Logan demanded, “Could you tell us why you called this meeting?”
“Why, I thought that would be clear by now. I wish to discuss Marcus Glenwood.” Before they could recover, he continued. “Logan, you have been with this firm for eight years, if my information is correct. And Ms. Rikkers, you’ve been here a bit longer now, isn’t that right?”
Suzie gave Logan a startled glance, searching for her cue. “Almost nine.”
“Actually, it’s ten next month, isn’t that correct?” He continued to address his questions to the window. “Logan, you are from Baltimore, do I have that right?”
“I fail to see—”
“University of Maryland undergrad and UVA law. Married a woman from Raleigh who was studying art history at that fine Jeffersonian establishment. Three lovely children, two boys and one girl who is approaching her second birthday as we speak.” Another noisy sip. “And you, Ms. Rikkers, hail from Chicago, our nation’s fine and windy city. Undergrad and law school at Northwestern. And still unmarried, a fact I find most astonishing. It must be from preference, certainly not from lack of opportunity.” His speech held a courtly air, as though bestowing a royal welcome. “Marcus was born in the Philadelphia area. Although his roots are mostly from these parts.”
Suzie Rikkers’ voice had the metallic quality of having been pounded flat on an anvil. “Why have you been checking up on me?”
“That’s simple enough, Ms. Rikkers. I like to know the people I’m addressing.” Randall finally turned from the window and slid into the seat directly across the table from them. “Now perhaps you would be so kind as to give me your impressions of your recently departed colleague.”
Logan studied the man across from them. In the space of a few minutes Randall Walker had entered their domain and wrested control, and done so with the kindliest of manners. The man certainly lived up to his reputation. Randall Walker had been the youngest person ever to serve upon the federal appellate bench. After holding that position for eight years, he had formed a partnership that now included two former senators and a retired governor among its ranks. Randall served on the board of over a dozen Fortune 500 companies,and acted as outside counsel to another five or six. He charged 450 dollars an hour, the highest rate of any lawyer in the state.
“Marcus Glenwood is history,” Suzie Rikkers snapped. “That’s all you need to know.”
Randall nodded benignly. “He must have been quite a good trial attorney, to have risen to partnership in less than six years.”
“So-so. He had great connections.” Suzie’s nails did a nervous dance upon the table. “Most of them through his wife. Her family was serious old money.”
“His wife, yes. You represented her in their divorce, what was her name?”
“Carol Clay Rice.”
“That’s right. As in Rice Communications and the Rice Foundation.”
Logan disliked being blindsided, and he distrusted the man’s courtly manner. He remained silent and let Suzie respond. “Marcus was dirt-poor. I learned that from his former mother-in-law. His parents split up and disappeared when he was about ten. He was raised by his grandparents.”
Randall smiled delightedly, as though Suzie was bestowing the wisdom of the ages. “Did you ever work with him on a trial?”
“Once. He went down in flames.”
Logan listened to Suzie twist the truth as if she were arguing a desperate case, and wondered how much Randall already knew. For example, did he know that Suzie’s account was a pack of self-serving lies, that Marcus had taken over the case from a partner dying of cancer? Logan had been present when Marcus, during his first meeting with the client, had declared that taking the case to trial would do little
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