Call Me Copy Girl One More Time Chapter 07

Call Me Copy Girl One More Time Chapter 07: What He Wanted

The thirtieth floor at night is all glass and city lights and nobody around.

Cole Ashford had his jacket off, sleeves rolled, a laptop open, and a wall of my own trial transcripts projected behind him like an indictment.

“Sit,” he said.

“You keep telling me to sit.”

“You keep standing against walls like you’re furniture.”

I sat.

He turned the laptop toward me. The plea offer. Fifteen years. Deakins’s signature. Expires Friday.

“Six firms say plead,” he said. “Whitaker says alibi and she’s wrong, and I know she’s wrong because a woman in a gray cardigan told me exactly how my brother was going to lose and then didn’t let him.” He looked up. “So here’s what I want. You try the case.”

“No.”

“I’ll pay whatever-”

“It isn’t money.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t try cases anymore. That’s the whole answer.”

“That’s not an answer, that’s a wall.” He stood, walked around the desk, and leaned against it in front of me.

“I read the obituary. Daniel Calloway, twenty-four. And I read the trial docket – State v. Calloway. Counsel of record: T. M. Calloway. Relationship to defendant: sister.”

I sat very still.

“You want to talk about that,” I said, “or you want to talk about your brother?”

“Both. They’re the same conversation.” His voice dropped. “You think if you never stand up again, he stops dying. He doesn’t. He’s already gone. And every day you spend in that basement, you’re the second Calloway that jury put away.”

I stood up so fast the chair scraped.

“You don’t get to say that.”

“Somebody has to.”

“You are a stranger who wants my-”

“I’m a man whose only family is nineteen years old and five days from a cage,” he said, and his voice finally-

cracked, one hairline fracture in all that ice. “And yes. I want you at that table. I have wanted you there since !

watched you read a file in nine seconds and go white.”

We stood there breathing at each other.

“Whitaker has an audit running,” I said finally. “In two days I’m unemployed and referred for fraud.”

“You’re not, because you didn’t falsify anything – you underreported, and I have four lawyers who find that. distinction delicious.” He picked up a folder from the desk and held it out. “But I’m not going to save you, Ms. Calloway. I’m going to make it impossible for them to touch you. There’s a difference, and you’re going to have

to choose it out loud.”

I opened the folder.

It was an engagement agreement. Ashford Capital. Forty million a year, twelve-year commitment.

And a rider, one page, four lines, that made my stomach drop:

$9.3- All Ashford matters at Harlan Pierce LLP shall be led by T. M. Calloway, Esq., as first chair. In the event Ms. Calloway’s employment is terminated, suspended, or constructively dismissed, this Agreement is void ab initio, and all fees paid become immediately repayable.

“You can’t do this.”

“It’s my money.”

“You’ve never seen me try a case.”

“I’ve seen you gut a state witness with a date stamp and a bad attitude.” He shrugged. “I make forty-million-dollar decisions on less.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then Eli signs the plea Friday, does fifteen years, and I never bother you again.” He held my eyes. “I’m not going to beg you, Tess. That would be cheap and you’d hate me for it. I’m just going to tell you the truth: there is exactly one person on this planet who can win this trial, and she’s been hiding in my law firm’s basement, and my brother is going to walk or rot based on what she says in the next thirty seconds.”

The city hummed behind the glass.

Somewhere across the river, a nineteen-year-old was sleeping with an ankle monitor on.

I thought about my brother’s hand on the table.

You’re the only one who’s ever fought for me.
“What?”

“Not Courtroom 4B. I’ll do it. Anywhere but 4B.”

His face changed. “Why not 4B?”

“Because that’s where they took my brother away,” I said. “Now sit down. If we’re doing this, we file a notice of

appearance at eight a.m., and you’re going to hate every single thing I’m about to demand.”