Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from Hot Copy by Ruby Barrett
Chapter One
A bead of sweat slipped into the dip of Perdie Stone’s cleavage. The thermostat was cranked to hell in the deposition room in the small North Dakota town. But she strove to remain cool, calm, and collected like an attorney who had her shit together, and not hot, stressed, and messy like an attorney whose twisted underwire happened to be digging into her rib cage.
The defendant, an oil executive, sat flanked by his army of lawyers neatly lined up in charcoal suits across the table. Their shapes reflected like cubist art against the high-gloss polyurethane finish.
Ordered from greatest to least, the defendant took the helm, followed by big-time defense attorney Carter Leplan in the second chair. With broad shoulders encased in a bespoke jacket, Carter was a full-blown hotshot compared to Perdie, and a newly minted partner at his defense firm.
Perdie fingered through a messy stack, locating a document. “On June seventeenth you planned to drill fifteen hundred feet on my client’s cattle ranch—”
“Two thousand feet, my dear,” the defendant, Thomas Brown, interjected. His eyes, while crinkled due to late middle age, were relaxed, and he stroked the white stubble on his chin. “Fifteen hundred is too shallow. But not surprised you don’t know. Doesn’t look like your firm’s put in much in the way of resources.” A few interns towards the end of the lineup tittered, and the corner of the defendant’s mouth curled.
Perdie forced a smile. The jab hit a little too close to home. She sat all by her lonesome on her side of the table, save for a disinterested videographer. But it was only because Frank Stetsel, the managing partner at Joy and Schulz, had dumped the case on her. He deemed the potential payout either too unlikely or too small for his hourly billing rate.
As a result, Perdie had undertaken the whole shebang alone from the document review to the brief writing to the depositions. This was her work, small payout or not, and she’d better not fuck it up. Her eyes shuttered briefly. “My client reported suspicious activity on his property. Were your men conducting tests not disclosed in the agreement?”
“Objection, Ms. Stone, asked and answered.” Carter shook his head with an eye roll, signaling to his client how silly Perdie’s questions were. He spoke with the confidence of a person who’d never given a wrong answer in class. “You’ve produced no convincing evidence that Mr. Brown is attempting to shortchange the deal. If anything, Mr. Brown is renowned for his generosity. A pillar of his community. Our motion to dismiss documents the process in plain English, assuming you got around to reading it. But if you’re struggling to keep up, I can write it out in smaller words.”
Perdie blushed, shuffling the papers in front of her. “Allow me to get to the point, then.”
“Would love to finally hear one.” That earned a chuckle from his client. Carter smiled, flashing straight white teeth.
Oh, it would feel good to take this guy down. With haste, Perdie leaned in to—Shit. A miscalculated swipe of her backhand sent her stack flying.
An intern at the end of the line moved to help, but Carter held up a hand, prompting the intern to plop down. Appearing to take his time, he pushed out his chair and then sauntered over to Perdie’s side of the table. After brief eye contact, he knelt to the mess of papers, and collected each piece by piece. Then he straightened and harshly tapped the edge of the papers to the hard surface until they aligned in a uniform rectangle. With what she could’ve sworn was a sympathetic smile, he handed the stack of neatly straightened papers to Perdie.
“Thanks,” she gritted. Whatever strategy Carter Leplan was employing to throw her off her game, it was working. Perdie was thrown off her game. Big-time.
“A little old for a new hire...” The defendant mumbled, elbowing a straight-faced Carter when he returned to his seat, straightening his suit jacket.
Perdie’s hand froze while flicking through the papers. You know what? Fuck it. She dropped the stack on the table. “Mr. Brown, who’s Lana?”
The question wiped the smirk off the defendant’s face. He cleared his throat, almost too quietly to hear. “You’ll have to be more specific. When you run a company with three thousand employees you know a lot of names.”
Perdie didn’t have to flip to the document with the emails discussing Lana, she simply pushed them towards the defendant. “That surprises me as you and your lead scientist have an awful lot to say about Lana. Let’s refresh your memory, shall we? Be my dear and read those emails loud enough for the court reporter. Start with June fourteenth.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her white button-up. White had been a poor choice. Next time she’d wear black when she sent a man to his funeral.
The defendant shifted in his chair. “It says: ‘Banging Lana on the down-low. She’s a juicy one but can’t let her husband know.’”
Uncomfortable snickers scattered across the table. A serious look from Carter rendered everyone silent.
“And the next three,” Perdie prompted.
The defendant pursed his lips but then lowered his gaze to the paper. “‘Lana looks shallow on the outside, but when you dig, she runs deeper than expected.’” He glanced up, but Perdie nodded for him to continue. “‘Visiting Lana Friday night. Think I’m starting to enjoy sneaking around. High predictions Lana is a...gusher.’”
This time actual laughter spouted from the other attorneys. Perdie merely lifted a brow, suppressing a smile.
“Objection.” Carter’s voice was tinged with exasperation. “The defendant isn’t being deposed for what he does after hours.”
Perdie steepled her fingers, resting her elbows on the table. “Mr. Brown, is it your assertion that Lana is just someone you do after hours?”
The defendant turned pale, eyes shifting to Carter. Carter shook his head in response. “Objection, again, irrelevant. And...” while his tone was flippant, casual almost, he caught Perdie’s eye “...indecent.”
Don’t let him distract you. Carter Leplan was a known superstar at his firm, but he wouldn’t get the best of her, not today.
“Counsel, as you well know your client has no implication of privilege and is therefore compelled to answer. Lana’s name appears over seventy-five times in the emails.”
A beat passed, and then the defendant shrugged. “Lana’s a gal I used to see, nothing more, nothing less. I might be crass, but far as I can tell crassness isn’t illegal. I thought lawyers like you were supposed to be elite. Maybe they don’t vet ’em like they did in my day.”
A smile. “Maybe they don’t. What’s Lana’s last name?”
