Chapter Two

The law firm of Hendricks, Kennedy, and Johnsonoccupied the entire forty-second floor of the prestigious John Hancock Building that anchored the skyline of Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. The spacious honeycomb of offices was lavishly appointed with a blend of glass and mahogany that symbolized the firm’s harmonious merging of progressive and traditional values. The oversized foyer was adorned with two five-foot-high abstract oil paintings splashed with broad bands of thick crimson paint smeared over a background of deeply textured white. The canvasses appeared similar, but a minute difference became apparent with careful inspection. In one painting, thin yellow streaks were barely visible over the red, and once noticed, the painting seemed vastlydissimilar.

Anita Johnson rushed through the glass entry doors and glanced at the law firm’s marquee stretched above the receptionist’s counter. The partners’ names were spelled out in gold block letters, and it secretly irked her that hers would never be first. For the past five years she had been the firm’s primary rainmaker, and she took full credit for expanding the business to forty-five lawyers. She took pride that she had been invited to become a senior partner before many others with greater seniority. The unusually swift promotion had raised eyebrows, but in her eyes all reproach was acceptable. She had broken up the old-boy network and smugly flaunted her role as the first female partner.

Anita was born for the practice of law. Her handshake was firm like a man’s, and she confidently took risks when necessary. She dressed as she pleased with a New York designer-influenced personal style that pushed to the front edge of fashion. Her cosmopolitan flair often caught people off guard, especially in conservative Chicago, and led mistaken adversaries to underestimate her skills as a lawyer. Their resultant casual arrogance fed into her strengths: a perfected sharp wit and icy condescension that put opponents on the defensive. But anger was Anita’s most poisonous weapon.

Rushing down the long hall to her office, Anita held her briefcase and purse close to her body so the straps wouldn’t cut into her shoulder. She dropped into the high-backed, rose-colored leather desk chair and slid soundlessly on the casters. As a matter of habit she glanced in the large gilded mirror on the wall beside her desk. The teardrops of jade that hung from her ears danced as she moved her head. Their color matched the dark green of her eyes, which was exactly the color of money. Squaring her shoulders she flipped open a file and read through its contents. Her first appointment for the day was an initial consultation for medical malpractice. Seeing a slam-dunk, she smiled, hoping to get this one to settle.

The receptionist escorted in her new client. Mr. Moll worked his way across the office with deliberate slowness, an audible moan with each step. His edematous feet splayed the tops of his tattered house slippers as he shuffled across the carpet. Anita rose to her feet and extended her hand, deftly concealing a mild sense of distaste and annoyance. The man looked vaguely infectious and her arm recoiled quickly after they’d touched. He wavered as he neared the desk and then dropped into an empty armchair across from Anita.

“Mole…” she began.“Is that an English name?”

“It’s pronounced‘Mall.’ You pronounce the o like an a—as in all.”

Moll’s bright eyes suggested that he was much younger than he appeared, but they were edgy,