Counsel (Counsel #1) Read Free Page B

Wade and I were close friends in college; well, as close as our differences allowed, but we had once been friends. I hope for the sake of his ambitions and our past association that allegations of his involvement prove false.
    "Thorne!" Gerard Beazley, our DA, calls out from my doorway later that day. He's a large man whose once-dark hair is graying at the temples, hardly surprising given that our office handles over fifty thousand criminal cases each year.
    Bill Watts, his second in command, manages the day-to-day running of the office and prosecutes one or more of the high-profile cases. But it’s Gerard Beazley we look up to. Every prosecutor in this office strives to emulate his stellar career. The DA’s earned the fond nickname of Bristly, a reference to his expressive, bushy eyebrows.
    "Good work on the Jenkins case, come and see me at three," he instructs and then leaves abruptly. I'm accustomed to his brusque manner, so I return to what I’d been doing without being overly concerned. By lunchtime, my backlog of paperwork hasn’t diminished nearly enough, so I decide to grab something from the local deli and work through. I've only just returned when my phone rings.
    I smile as I note the caller’s identity. "Hello, darling. I’ve given up waiting on you to call," Mom says when I answer. My smile widens at her teasing tone. I love my adoptive mother, Emma, dearly. She’d been our social worker, and when Eleanor was found dead from a drug overdose, the police contacted Mom whose name had, thankfully, been added as my emergency contact at school. Refusing to place me into the system, she took me home with her instead.
    She and her husband, Callum, almost immediately applied to foster me. When that was granted, they petitioned to adopt me. Without Mom having taken such a close interest in our case and caring about me, I might not have made it out of the system unscathed. I’ve certainly come a long way from the rundown part of Boston where I spent the first seven years of my life. My home, now, is a former commercial building in the Back Bay district, bordering the area where I once lived. The building, which formerly housed a library and later a rundown art gallery, stands at the end of a street of Victorian brownstone homes.
    I had the property converted into two residences after purchasing and transferred the second title to my sister, Caitlin. I’ve renovated my half of the cavernous building into a home for myself, but Cait and Matt have yet to decide what they want to do with hers. My greatest wish is that they convert it into a home for themselves.
    People constantly speculate about the source of my wealth, and to those who don’t truly know me, I’m the successful, millionaire prosecutor, darling of the media and social set. They couldn’t be more wrong in their assessment of me because none of those things, with the notable exception of my career as a prosecutor, matter to me. At my core, I remain the once poor boy rescued from the hell of his early childhood by the angel now on the phone.
    "Sorry, Mom, I've just been so busy with the Jenkins trial, but I plan to visit soon," I apologize.
    "You'd better, darling. In fact, I'm going to insist that you and Jaclyn come to dinner on Sunday." Mom’s never been a fan of Jaclyn’s, I know, but she’s remained silent and supportive because of her love for me.
    "I'll be there, but Jaclyn won't. We're no longer together," I confess.
    "Oh, Adam, I'm so sorry."
    "I'm fine, Mom, in fact, I've never felt better," I assure her.
    "As long as you're sure, darling. Must dash; I just called to congratulate you on the verdict. We’re so proud of you, Adam. See you on Sunday?"
    "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
    "I love you," she tells me before hanging up.
    "Love you too, Mom," I belatedly reply.
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    "Congratulations again on your win, Adam. You just keep adding to your impressive record," Bristly says, motioning me to a seat. "I’ll get straight to point. What