Free Primary Justice (Ben Kincaid series Book 1) by William Bernhardt

are.”
    “Figures.” He cleared his throat, loudly enough to attract attention at the next table. Ben noticed that Derek didn’t even look at his wife when he was ostensibly speaking to her. “Well, glad you could make it tonight, Kincaid. By the way, you did a decent job summarizing your two new cases. Didn’t miss too much. I look forward to reading your brief on the trade dress injunction.” He sniffed again, then turned away, departing with his wife for cough drops unknown.
    Cozy little marriage, Ben thought. He sat back in his chair, only to find every associate’s eye fixed upon him. Receiving public accolades from shareholders, however minor, was probably not the way to endear oneself to one’s fellow associates. He stood again and pushed his chair away from the banquet table.
    Greg sidled up next to him and whispered in his ear. “Psst, Kincaid.” He gave Ben a conspiratorial look. “Let’s break into the good stuff.”
    Ben looked back at him blankly. “The good stuff?”
    “You know. Booze.”
    “Greg, there are open bars all over this place.”
    “Yeah, but not the good stuff. Courvoisier. Dom Pérignon.”
    “I understood that was strictly for the senior shareholders to dispense to megafees-paying clients.”
    Greg smiled his trademark smile. “I found the cabinet where it’s kept. In the adjoining room.”
    “I’m sure it’s locked.”
    Greg wiggled his fingers in the air. “There was never a liquor cabinet I couldn’t break into. These fingers can open any lock, crack any security system.” He jabbed Ben in the ribs. “And they say you don’t learn anything in a fraternity.”
    Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so, Greg. I’d like to wait until my second week at least before I get caught confiscating firm assets.”
    “C’mon, Kincaid, don’t be a wimp.”
    “No.” He turned away from Greg and found himself standing face-to-face with Mr. Raven. Raven was peering into a short piece of paper held close to his nose.
    “Let’s see,” the elderly man said. “Are you Amberson?”
    Ben swallowed. Didn’t Raven recognize him from the incident in the stairwell?
    “Er … no, sir.”
    “Hager?”
    “No, sir.”
    Raven continued his microscopic scrutiny of the paper. “Well, I give up then. Who are you?”
    “Kincaid, sir. Benjamin Kincaid.”
    “Ahh, Kincaid!” he exclaimed. He took a pencil from his jacket and drew a line through one name on his list. “Good. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.
    Ben stared at the old man. Was this some sort of bizarre test, or did he really not remember? Ben decided to play along.
    “It’s a true honor to meet you, sir.”
    Raven nodded and returned his gaze to his list. “All right,” he said, “who’s Amberson?” He moved around the new associates’ table in search of the other names on his list.
    “Well, if he won’t introduce me, I’ll have to do it myself.”
    Ben looked away from the table and saw a thin, black-haired woman in an exquisite décolleté black gown. It was trashy, but an expensive, tasteful sort of trashy. Black mesh at top and bottom, covering her figure just enough in strategically chosen places.
    “I’m Raven’s new wife, Mona. And you’re …?”
    “Ben Kincaid,” he said, suddenly flustered. He realized he’d been caught staring. He offered her his hand.
    Standing closer to her, Ben saw that Alvin was right. She was nowhere near Raven’s age—late thirties, maybe. He wondered how much of the rest of Alvin’s information about this woman was accurate.
    “Ben. Very nice to meet you.” She took his hand and held it tightly between both of hers. Her fingernails were painted black. She made eye contact and smiled. The smile seemed to answer most of Ben’s questions.
    The band returned from their break and began plugging in their instruments for the next dance. Mr. Raven bowed gallantly beside Marianne.
    “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he asked. Marianne laughed, adjusted her