$200 and a Cadillac - By Fingers Murphy Page 0,127

since I’d almost gotten killed and quit the place.

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II

A few years ago, American Lawyer magazine named Max Stanton to its forty under forty list. Meaning he was seen as one of the top forty lawyers in the country under the age of forty. Needless to say, it’s a hard list to get on.

Stanton had long been the rising star of the Kohlberg & Crowley litigation department. And K&C was one of the most prestigious and powerful law firms not just in Los Angeles, but in the entire world. Still in his early forties, his career appeared to have limitless potential. And at K&C, he would have every means at his disposal to make good on that promise. K&C was a law firm that rendered advice on the largest and most complicated business deals and lawsuits in existence. It was a place where the partners, like Stanton, made millions of dollars a year, a law firm where only the brightest legal minds in the world could even hope to get an interview, let alone a job. Once upon a time, I had gotten both.

We got in the elevator and Jendrek winked at me. “I’ll bet it feels good to be home again.”

“Reception’s on seventy-two,” I said.

“Ooh, the top floor,” he said, as he pushed the button, then added, “swanky.”

“You don’t let up, do you?”

Jendrek leaned against the back of the elevator as we rode up. His eyes grew distant. He was running through our meeting at the Vargas house in his head. Finally, he asked, “What do you think the deal is between the son and the wife?”

“What do you mean?”

“What was it she said? ‘My husband wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t deserve this.’ Don’t you think that’s a strange comment?”

“I thought the whole place was strange,” I said, thinking of Brianna’s tan skin and the smell of lotion in the warm sun. “That girl on the deck, Brianna? I guess she lives there, but she’s not a relative. She said something weird. She said that Don Vargas wouldn’t let her move in until she turned eighteen.”

Jendrek laughed as the doors opened. He spoke in a loud whisper as he stepped out into the lobby. “Well, you gotta be of age to be in porn.”

The words stunned me for a moment as I thought of her sitting on the deck in the lounge chair. It hadn’t occurred to me that she was part of Don Vargas’s business. I felt both repulsion and fascination come over me and the elevator nearly closed with me still inside. I jumped out and caught up with Jendrek at the desk.

The receptionist told us Stanton would be with us in a minute and Jendrek and I strolled over to the floor to ceiling windows. The view west was unobstructed. The Hollywood Hills, with the famous sign and the white dome of the observatory in the foreground, stretched off to the ocean, disappearing into a distant blue haze. The grid of Los Angeles crisscrossed through mid-Wilshire, Beverly Hills, Westwood, and on into Santa Monica, which sat in the distance like a handful of white pebbles next to the glimmering Pacific.

Then a man spoke from behind us. “Mark?”

We turned to see Max Stanton smiling at us. He was tan and fit. Six feet tall and perfectly groomed. Handsome, but not too handsome. And dressed in a casual shirt and slacks that must have cost a grand if they cost a dime.

Jendrek shook his hand. “Thanks for seeing us, Max.”

“No trouble at all.” Then he turned to me. “You must be Mr. Olson.”

“Good to meet you.” I smiled and shook his hand. He wore an Omega watch that could easily be mistaken for a Seiko by someone who didn’t know what they were looking at. I noticed because it was the same watch I wore. The same watch I’d bought for myself the summer I worked there. I now wore it as a talisman to remind me why I’d left the rarefied air of K&C so far behind. “Nice watch,” I said.

He smiled and said, “Yours too.” Max Stanton wasn’t the kind of guy who needed to impress people, because he was impressive. It was just a simple fact. The fact that he came across as a decent guy only made him more impressive.

We followed him back to his corner office and sat in the leather chairs in front of his desk. Stanton eased into his own chair and laced