Friday, October 4
Gliding down the Beeline Highway at three miles over the limit, Atticus Barclay couldn’t help but chuckle. Despite speed cameras and sheriff’s patrols, cars were flowing by him like he was a rock in a stream. No matter the odds against them, some people just had to flout the law.
Not Barclay. In his mind the law was a big wall, like the one the Feds had put up along the Mexican border. As a plaintiff’s attorney, it was his job to get his clients over it, under it, or around it, so they could collect their due on the other side. Climbing, digging, even flying over—it didn’t matter how he got them there as long as he operated within the ethics rules. He settled more comfortably into his sheepskin-covered seat and flicked on the cruise control.
Despite the Mercedes’ speed, the ocotillos and saguaros along the roadside seemed to roll leisurely by, a silent movie in sepia tones. A fiery sunset flared at the horizon, flames of red licking the opalescent air. Beneath the purr of the air-conditioning, the big German sedan ran as smoothly and silently as a desert puma.
Barclay held the tan leather steering wheel with a light touch. His fingers were grimy, and there was dirt under his nails. Legal work involved a lot of things, some of them messy. Barclay didn’t like to leave important details to paralegals or even other lawyers. Legal research was one thing, but unearthing evidence was another. Sometimes a lawyer had to get his hands dirty. You never knew when you might find something you didn’t even know you were looking for. And you didn’t always let anyone know where you were looking either.
The air thickened with purple. Twilight softened the gaunt land of splintered peaks, torn valleys, and hot skies. But Barclay knew that beneath the apparent tranquility remained a harsh reality. The desert imbued everything with an insatiable drive to endure—indeed, to prevail. Including his law firm.
Barclay, Harrington & Merchant wasn’t big, not by Phoenix standards, but it was a force in Pinnacle Peak. Barclay knew there were those who would undermine all the hard work that had gone into building it into a premier boutique practice.
His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror where the reflection of a dually’s hood loomed large. Barclay could see the pickup was pulling a horse trailer, one of those stock models designed to carry a half-dozen horses, head to tail. He wondered if the equine passengers were watching the traffic zoom by, too.
In the morning he would have to make a move in the KB Enterprises case. Schedule more depositions, respond to the latest motion for summary—
He looked again at the rearview mirror. What the—? Before he could check the side view, brakes screeched like a horse’s panicked whinny. There was a crunching thump followed by a metallic scraping, and then the Mercedes was skidding and turning and tipping.
Barclay’s head smacked against the driver’s window as the road cartwheeled in front of him. Images of the people at his firm—they were all family to him—tumbled unbidden through his mind. Forrest Whitford—how had he let such a stiff advance so far in the litigation department? Jerry Dan Kovacs—a crackerjack lawyer, a kid with a great future. Trudy Cummings ticking off clients with her Equal Opportunity Annoyer t-shirt. Sydney Gardner with dark circles under sad eyes. Young Joe McGuinness . . . first thing tomorrow he’d tell him—
There was a flash. A rush of hot air followed by fire roiled over him. Within a minute the Mercedes was a car-be-cue, and all Barclay’s worries had gone up in flames. Barclay, too.
Chapter One of False Fortune →
Chapter One of Family Claims →
Chapter One of Spurred Ambition →
