The next day was Tuesday and dedicated to final preparation for Marisa’s hearing. After arising and dressing, I went straight to my office. I reviewed notes, drafted witness questions, and tried to develop new theories about the case, though they were in short supply. Going into court with incomplete facts and doubts about a client was never a good strategy, but the judge would call the case tomorrow. There was no way to delay the hearing.
Throughout the day, I distracted myself with other legal work, returning phone calls, answering emails, and writing letters like thousands of other attorneys across the country — except none of them had thugs pressing pistols against their heads or threatening them over stolen plans for an underwater drone. I tried to ignore the aftereffects of my veins turning to ice on the edge of the bay last night, but that was impossible. The worst of this nightmare case was yet to come.
During my lunch break, I shopped for a new phone and returned to my office. Back at my desk, I navigated a customer service maze to hook up my old number. After loading a few essential apps, I returned to Marisa’s file with more angst than optimism.
Hailey wore a burnt orange dress with yellow floral accents as she entered my office. I felt a tinge of guilt for not telling her about the armed shakedown, but at the same time I had to keep her safe. She was linked to me. Dangerous people were circling us like sharks in bloody waters. Maybe the less Hailey knew, the better off she would be.
Hailey handed me a phone message from an insurance adjuster, which I dropped in my inbox for later. She adjusted a bow on her dress and said, “The computer guy installed a whole new operating system and reloaded our software. New firewall and security upgrades, too.”
“Where was he?” I asked. “I never saw him.”
“He works remotely. All done from his shop. Now I can download our back-up files and get us up and running again.”
“Excellent, Hailey. I appreciate it. Look, I’ve been thinking about Marisa’s case and who’s involved. Not just that creepy defense contractor on the other side. International spies. People who would do anything to get their hands on the Remora Shadow. We’ve got to be careful. And if you’ve got second thoughts about coming to court, well …”
“Oh, you’re just paranoid. Of course I’ll be there to back you up tomorrow.”
“You’re sure? The more I think about it …”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She frowned with unease. “Something wrong?”
“No. It’s just that if this case goes in a weird direction, well, you’d be seen with me. You could keep some professional distance.”
Hailey shook her head, disregarding the suggestion. “I can handle myself. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I’m all right. Just a lot on my mind.”
“You’ll do fine tomorrow. Stop worrying. The Dupree file is organized. Trial binder, too. Pleadings, correspondence, evidence. All in chronological order. You’re keeping it that way, right?”
“Yeah, of course. Just a final run-though before this case all goes down in the morning.” A sudden shiver ran through my body. Unexpectedly, I recalled the smell of the dirt road where the gunman forced me to lie face-down last night. A dark van had followed me after my first meeting with E.J. Nielsen. Now a gunman had attacked me after my second encounter with him, but I needed more time to make a connection, if there was one.
Hailey’s dark hair shone like smooth onyx. She tucked a lock behind her ear. “You know you’re ready for this hearing.”
“Ready as I’m going to be.”
We heard the front door of the law office open with a long, slow creak.
Hailey turned her head and asked, “An appointment you didn’t put on the calendar?”
“No. Not expecting anyone.”
“I’ll see who it is,” she said.
Raising my hand to stop her, I was too late. Hailey quickly slipped out of my office and walked toward the reception area. She returned in a few seconds with a concerned and suspicious look across her face. “You’ve got a visitor. Said he’s FBI.”
At the end of the corridor, a man in a gray business suit, white Oxford shirt, and a plain blue tie stood stiffly in the receptionist area, pretending to wait patiently. His angular flat-top looked as if a barber had shaped his brown hair with a wood plane. From a respectful distance, the man’s eyes casually studied the documents atop Hailey’s desk. He looked up at me, flashed a badge from his wallet, and extended his other hand.
“Mr. Seagraves, I’m Special Agent Matt Wolanski. FBI. Hope we can speak for a few minutes.”
Releasing our handshake, I pointed down the corridor. “Sure, but I’m in trial prep. Just briefly.”
We entered the conference room.
Agent Wolanski shut the door behind us. “Thanks for meeting with me. No doubt you know why I’m here. Richard Kostas, Marisa Dupree, the stolen files from Benton Dynamics. I know you’re busy, Mr. Seagraves, but we won’t be long.”
Pointing to a chair for him, I sat down across the conference table. “Honestly, there’s not much I can discuss with a pending hearing.”
He pulled out a chair and sat. “Well, of course. Makes sense. Sheriff Tompkins tells me that she’s been trying to set up an interview of Marisa Dupree, but without any luck. The sheriff’s an eternal optimist, but it’s obvious you’re holding off. Any good lawyer would do that under the circumstances.”
I folded my hands and rested them on the tabletop. “Actually, Ms. Dupree said she’ll cooperate, but after court tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s a good sign, I suppose. She says that now, but that’ll change. She’ll probably take the Fifth Amendment, and why not? I would tell her to, if I were her attorney. What I need will come from other sources, like Benton Dynamics and the hearing. I’m actually not here to schedule an interview with your client.”
I shifted in my chair. “So what are you here for?”
“You, Mr. Seagraves.”
“Me? I’m just
