comfortable any longer, so find yourself a new defense team.
It didn’t work that way, and Marta damn well knew it.
Billy was patiently waiting for an answer. He was pretty sure he knew what it was. She had waited too long to walk away from the chicken that laid all those golden eggs. She was tired of living on the salary of an ADA and wondering if she would ever walk into a new car showroom, point, and say, “I want that one” without the expected song and dance.
“Yes, damn it, yes.”
The two of them raised their coffee mugs.
Real drinks would come later tonight.
“I suggest you pull out fifty thousand from the escrow account and go on a well-deserved spending spree. You might also consider a new car. Perception is reality in this business, and your four-year-old Nissan just doesn’t cut it. It will send a strong message to the DA’s office and the criminal bar and pile up your perception points with Mr. Yeung and any potential new clients. What about leasing a new Jaguar convertible or a top-of-the-line Mercedes SUV? Your call—you can now afford it.”
Marta now had a grin from one ear to the other.
“I like the way you think, Billy Jo. We will make one hell of a team.”
“We already have, we already have,” Billy replied.
CHAPTER 3
Dinner was spent at a high-end steak house/watering hole just outside the city limits where attorneys and judges were known to frequent. Not only was the food and service good, but the visibility was great. At times it is good to see, at others, to be seen.
This was one of the latter.
Marta was wearing a long black skirt with a slit halfway up her thigh. Her jet black long hair was piled up in a French braid. The waiter almost stumbled bringing the drink order over. He was staring at her ample cleavage, not where he was walking. More than a few members of the bar were there with their wives.
They were all talking.
A gorgeous black woman with a six foot three white dude wearing cowboy boots and a white Stetson could hardly be missed.
“That’s Gibson and Clarke, the new kids on the block.”
“She just left the DA’s office after twenty years, and the tall dude is Billy Jo Gibson, a legend in his own mind.”
“Someone said they’re now representing the Yeung Syndicate.”
Rumors were flying. Marta and Billy loved every minute of it.
The attention they were getting was overwhelming. The maître d’ came over twice to make sure everything was in order.
“How’s your New York strip?”
“I could eat here every night,” Marta responded. “Might not fit into my clothes within a week, but it would be worth it.”
Billy Jo had just cut off a thin slice of his medium rare filet mignon and was savoring the mouth-watering juices. He carefully placed his fork down on the side of the bone china plate, sipped a delightfully aged Brunello DiMontalcino red, and turned to Marta.
“Depending on how things work out in the next six months, I’m thinking of hiring an associate or two to handle the West Virginia office and spending more time up here. What do you think?”
“You’re the boss.”
“No, we’re a team, and we make decisions together. You’ve got the local reputation, the brains, and the moxie; I have far more years on the other side of the street. I have gotten away with more crap in a courtroom than you’ve ever thought of. That’s why we make a great team. That’s why we will make a bundle of money.”
Marta knew he was right.
Billy interrupted her thoughts.
“For now, Miranda can handle the office and paperwork. At some point, not sure when, she’ll need an assistant to do the typing and answer the phones. I suggest we get a first-rate CPA to keep track of everything. There may be a fair amount of cash flowing through our offices. I’m using the Grimaldi accounting firm. First-rate, fair, and honest. I would trust them with my life. Matter of fact, I do, every day. One last thing. We need an
It didn’t work that way, and Marta damn well knew it.
Billy was patiently waiting for an answer. He was pretty sure he knew what it was. She had waited too long to walk away from the chicken that laid all those golden eggs. She was tired of living on the salary of an ADA and wondering if she would ever walk into a new car showroom, point, and say, “I want that one” without the expected song and dance.
“Yes, damn it, yes.”
The two of them raised their coffee mugs.
Real drinks would come later tonight.
“I suggest you pull out fifty thousand from the escrow account and go on a well-deserved spending spree. You might also consider a new car. Perception is reality in this business, and your four-year-old Nissan just doesn’t cut it. It will send a strong message to the DA’s office and the criminal bar and pile up your perception points with Mr. Yeung and any potential new clients. What about leasing a new Jaguar convertible or a top-of-the-line Mercedes SUV? Your call—you can now afford it.”
Marta now had a grin from one ear to the other.
“I like the way you think, Billy Jo. We will make one hell of a team.”
“We already have, we already have,” Billy replied.
CHAPTER 3
Dinner was spent at a high-end steak house/watering hole just outside the city limits where attorneys and judges were known to frequent. Not only was the food and service good, but the visibility was great. At times it is good to see, at others, to be seen.
This was one of the latter.
Marta was wearing a long black skirt with a slit halfway up her thigh. Her jet black long hair was piled up in a French braid. The waiter almost stumbled bringing the drink order over. He was staring at her ample cleavage, not where he was walking. More than a few members of the bar were there with their wives.
They were all talking.
A gorgeous black woman with a six foot three white dude wearing cowboy boots and a white Stetson could hardly be missed.
“That’s Gibson and Clarke, the new kids on the block.”
“She just left the DA’s office after twenty years, and the tall dude is Billy Jo Gibson, a legend in his own mind.”
“Someone said they’re now representing the Yeung Syndicate.”
Rumors were flying. Marta and Billy loved every minute of it.
The attention they were getting was overwhelming. The maître d’ came over twice to make sure everything was in order.
“How’s your New York strip?”
“I could eat here every night,” Marta responded. “Might not fit into my clothes within a week, but it would be worth it.”
Billy Jo had just cut off a thin slice of his medium rare filet mignon and was savoring the mouth-watering juices. He carefully placed his fork down on the side of the bone china plate, sipped a delightfully aged Brunello DiMontalcino red, and turned to Marta.
“Depending on how things work out in the next six months, I’m thinking of hiring an associate or two to handle the West Virginia office and spending more time up here. What do you think?”
“You’re the boss.”
“No, we’re a team, and we make decisions together. You’ve got the local reputation, the brains, and the moxie; I have far more years on the other side of the street. I have gotten away with more crap in a courtroom than you’ve ever thought of. That’s why we make a great team. That’s why we will make a bundle of money.”
Marta knew he was right.
Billy interrupted her thoughts.
“For now, Miranda can handle the office and paperwork. At some point, not sure when, she’ll need an assistant to do the typing and answer the phones. I suggest we get a first-rate CPA to keep track of everything. There may be a fair amount of cash flowing through our offices. I’m using the Grimaldi accounting firm. First-rate, fair, and honest. I would trust them with my life. Matter of fact, I do, every day. One last thing. We need an
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