Bad Behavior(3)
"If that's what you call fucking, then you're even dumber than I thought. And that's really saying something. Don't let the door hit you in your limp dick on the way out."
A couple of my associates snorted, and the other ones-the ass kissers-did their best to stifle their grins.
I waved a dismissive hand at him as he stormed out, no doubt planning to call his equally limp-dicked father and complain about the "bitch." Have fun with that. I continued on with the morning meeting.
Chapter Two
"Vin, tell me about this guy." Vinnie was my most trusted associate. He didn't have the blue blood or the Ivy League pedigree, but he was a hell of an investigator and an excellent litigator.
Tall with dark hair and even darker eyes, he was a looker. But he was married. So, for me, he was off-limits. I didn't hold much sacred, but that bond was one I never tangled with. It was too real, too murky, to meddle with people who were once in love, or maybe even still in love.
Any idiots who would tie themselves to a stake together and light a bonfire of monogamy and resentment under their own feet had plenty of trouble without me butting in. Besides, I had fertile hunting grounds elsewhere.
"He's a bit of a mystery." Vinnie plopped down at the conference table. "I've checked him out through all my channels. No one has dealt with him. His SEC report is clean. No other cases or complaints against him."
I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers. "So he's clean. That's a first around here. Sounds like good news to me."
"Not exactly. He's about to be indicted for a massive Ponzi involving several elderly clients at New Orleans nursing homes." Vinnie tapped his wedding-ring finger on the edge of the table. The tick-tick-ticking of the metal on glass was like mini-gunshots, riddling my brain.
"Knock it off."
"Sorry, boss." Vinnie ran the offending hand through his close-cropped hair. "Like I said, he looks clean, but he's been doing plenty of dirt to wind up here. And just because he doesn't have any underworld connections here or in Chi-town doesn't mean there aren't any. I know most of the families still in business, but not all of them."
Vinnie had connections. He'd been born into a Brooklyn family with a skill set that, at first glance, would seem anathema to his law degree. But once he'd gotten his JD, he'd been a godsend to his family and friends. He was well seasoned at getting them out of jail and also getting not-guilty verdicts. He'd tried more jury cases than some attorneys twice his age. He was a scrapper, and I loved scrappers.
"Okay, I'll want you on this one with me. How much money are we talking?"
"Fifty million, easy."
"What?" I had never heard of a Ponzi scheme that size involving run-of-the-mill droolers in nursing homes. It didn't seem possible.
"That's what the U.S. Attorney's Office is saying."
"Holy shit, Vin. Who did he fucking scheme, the grandparents of the top one percent or what?"
"I haven't been able to get any more information ahead of the grand jury, so we don't know all the names." Vinnie started straightening his tie. It was almost time for the client to show.
I stood and, using the window as a mirror, arranged my auburn locks to fall around my face. It made my blue eyes stand out. I smoothed my blouse and undid an extra button at my chest, letting the white lace chemise show a bit more. My signature black pencil skirt was straight, so all was in order. I didn't wear a jacket in the office. Too stuffy. I wanted my clients to feel at ease when they spilled their guts to me.
The elevator dinged, signaling an arrival, likely the Ponzi prince we'd been discussing.
"In here or your office?" Vinnie asked.
"Let's do it in here. Get Drew, too. I think I'll need at least two of you on this." Vinnie sighed. He and Drew's rivalry predated even their time in my office. Law school-you make a few distant friends and a ton of close enemies.
He buzzed her office.
The client arrived at the reception area. I could see him through the glass of the neighboring conference room. He was in a well-tailored gray suit. The gray was a poor choice. It was a little too "spring" for New York. Definitely not from here.
His hair was a shiny black with a few white strands slithering through here and there. He was tall and fit, clearly taking more care of his body than he did of his clients' portfolios. He wasn't even forty years old and he'd already wiped out the savings of no telling how many nanas and pop-pops. Impressive.
Courtney, the receptionist, showed him into our conference room. I greeted him with a confident smile and my outstretched palm.