CHAPTER TWO
Praesumptio
“Aaarg,” I groaned, flopping onto my mattress. I’d spent the night at the PD and managed to get a custody hearing scheduled for my client in a few hours, which left me little time at home. “I’d kill for a coffee.”
I stared at the ceiling of my completely unfurnished bedroom. I’d moved in less than a week ago after my last apartment became too expensive given the clients we’re handling at Torres&Fields Associates—the law firm I started with my partner and former maid of honor, Celie Fields.
Before T & F, we worked for a big firm in Alta.
We handled corporate bureaucracy without a shred of emotion.
The only thing that made it worthwhile was the money.
I’d worked there from law school until my thirtieth birthday, when I started hating every choice I’d made up to that point. Fiancé, job, neighborhood.
When Celie suggested we return to our hometown and start our own firm, I thought it was a great idea.
Now, looking at this bedroom in a badly located house with none of the amenities my old condo had, it seems like I should’ve just poured myself a whisky and taken a deep breath before another day at the big law firm in Alta.
My phone vibrated inside my purse, and Betty’s number appeared on the screen—a journalist from The Heritage News.
“Betty?”
“Hi Helena! Merry Christmas!” Betty said cheerfully from the other end of the line.
“Merry Christmas.” I’d even forgotten it was Christmas. “Did something happen?”
“Were you at the PD yesterday?”
“Yes. I went to see a client,” I replied, getting up from the bed and heading to the closet to look for clean underwear. I needed to get dressed again to leave soon. “What’s your interest in small-time drug dealers?”
“What? No. I’m more interested in your other client,” she said. “They said you’re Dante Marino’s lawyer.”
I tripped over the pile of boxes and fell into the closet.
“Who told you that crazy story?” I responded, dodging the clothes that had fallen on me from the hangers.
“You don’t need to lie to me, Helena,” she said skeptically. “We grew up together. You know I’m totally responsible with my articles.”
“Betty, I think you fell for fake news.” I got up. “I’m not Mr. Marino’s lawyer. I was there for Jim.”
Did I omit the part where I’d said loud and clear that I was his lawyer? Yes. But Betty was right—I knew her, knew how committed she could be to a story. And worse, she was excellent at twisting words to make it front-page news.
“Well, then you need to tell Dante, because your name is listed among his lawyers,” Betty threw out before turning her attention to someone else, without even hanging up.
I took three deep breaths and looked at myself in the mirror. A pair of panties resting on my shoulder.
“I have a feeling we’ve created a problem, little Helena.”
On the way to the courthouse, I knew I’d find a lot of commotion out front.
Dante’s hearing would be right after mine, which meant plenty of vultures circling.
From a distance, I spotted some TV vans.
The buzz of journalists was drowned out by the mass of young women screaming Dante’s name, waving photos and posters.
“This is a complete circus,” I muttered as I parked my white Jaguar F-type Coupe in the spaces designated for lawyers. As I got out of the car with my folders, I noticed I had company. “Hi, William.”
William Quinn, prosecutor in Heritage and also my boyfriend back in high school. William looked a lot like the guys who play pickleball on Wednesdays. I laughed, remembering Dante’s posture when the officers had come at him.
“In a good mood today?” William clicked his BMW’s key fob. “Merry Christmas, Lee.”
“I’d rather be eating Celie’s cookies and opening presents.” I smiled at him. William and I had met in school, and we’d been in the same debate clubs. We always knew we’d be lawyers. Him because he was my father’s number one fan, and me because I wanted my father to be mine.
We walked to the courthouse, squeezing between the journalists. The girls were chanting and taking selfies.
“This case is making this the worst Christmas of my life,” William complained. “Are you here for Jim again?”
William opened the large wooden doors of the elegant hall.
“Are we becoming regulars at the courthouse?” I joked, passing by him.
“I saw him yesterday, when I was leaving the PD,” William replied. “You should give up this private practice life and come work with the big sharks.”
“I still reek of sardines, Will.” I spotted my assistant waiting for me in the corner of the lobby. “Maybe next year.”
“It’ll be great to share the ocean with you, Lee,” he said with a smile.
“Miss Torres.” Joseph approached. “I thought you weren’t going to make it in time.”
I was relatively late by my standards, but I had to admit the last twelve hours had been completely chaotic.
“I’m here, Joe. Let’s go save Jim from his own choices.”
Joseph accompanied me to the anteroom, where we waited for the judge to summon us.
“The doctor looks stunning today,” Jim joked when I entered. “Red is your color.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I scolded him.
But he was right. Red is my color. And it seemed to make the contrast between my hair and eyebrows and my skin stand out even more.
My hair down and wine-colored lipstick completed my favorite winter look.
A red suit, white shirt, and a heavy, light-colored trench coat.
After the hearing where we won the habeas corpus motion, I had Joe put Jim in a taxi while I headed to the lawyers’ lounge to find coffee or something hot to drink.
The lounge was empty. There was an espresso machine and some armchairs with computer desks that we used to work between hearings. I sat at one of them and pulled out my laptop to log the day’s work so Celie could add it to our billing.
Almost thirty minutes of work and two cups of coffee later, two interns from the prosecutor’s office came in whispering. I tried not to pay attention, but their giggles and comments quickly got louder.
“He smiled at me when I walked in,” one of them said, and they both burst out laughing.
“Seriously, I want to take a picture of him and make it my screensaver,” the other one gushed. “That Dante is so hot.”
I stared at them, incredulous that this was happening in a courtroom lounge. They seemed to notice my discomfort and immediately went quiet.
What the hell was going on? Were people ignoring the fact that he might have killed someone just because he has a nice smile and gorgeous eyes?
They quickly disappeared, and I had peace and quiet again. But the voice in my head was too interested in figuring out what was robbing people of their common sense.
My finger moved to the browser and I typed in Dante Marino’s name. The screen filled with a flood of fan edits, posts, and news articles. Newspapers, blogs, social media. The guy was the man of the moment. He even had a Wikipedia page already.
Dante Marino is quite young but has an impressive, award-winning background in Electronic Engineering.
His social life looked like any guy his age—lots of photos with friends and several with his sister.
Nothing that marked him as a potential killer.
Especially nothing that made him seem like a cold, calculating murderer.
It’s obvious why so many girls are in love with him.
There’s something magnetic about his energy.
His body is well-defined for what you’d call a nerd.
His black hair and light eyes are an invitation to the imagination.
But his main feature is something that can’t be captured or translated.
It’s something in the way he seems to look right through you in some of his photos.
The same way he looked toward the room behind the mirror, even without knowing I was there.
“I thought you’d have left by now.” William appeared out of nowhere, making me jump. “Sorry, I thought you heard me come in.”
“I got distracted,” I replied, snapping my laptop shut.
“The girls said they found a gorgeous grouch in the lounge. I figured you were still here.”
“How was your hearing?” I asked, deflecting his teasing.
“Hellish, with all those women sighing,” he said, unbuttoning his collar. “Since we both had our Christmases ruined... how about lunch together?”
I always avoided William’s invitations, but the roads to Celie’s were still closed from last night’s blizzard, and I had nothing to eat at home.
“Sure,” I replied, gathering my things.
“Before we go, can we stop by my office?”
“Of course.”
“I need to make sure I didn’t leave my file cabinet open.”
I followed William to his office on the opposite side of the building. While he checked the file cabinet, I looked around the room. A folder on the desk caught my eye—the name on its edge stood out.
“Dante Marino,” I read quietly.
“Ah, I was looking for that,” William said, suddenly at my side, grabbing the folder.
“This is your case?”
“Yep,” he replied, almost proudly. “Your father helped me land this one. In his opinion, it’s one of those big bait games.”
Dad calls famous cases Bait Games. It’s when you take on a case where no matter the outcome, you’re going to catch something. Even if it’s just a boot.
“I didn’t know it was yours. What do you think of him?” I asked.
“I think we’ll win easily. Our biggest challenge is public opinion.”
“Everyone seems to love him.”
“The crazy girls who like bad boys, bikers, and masked men.”
Right. Those crazy girls.