Free Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) by Magda Alexander Page A

“Yes, he has.”
    “You’ll need to decline representation.”
    I snap upright. Didn’t see that one coming. “Why the hell should I do that?”
    “Holden Gardiner was the founding member of this firm. You can’t represent his accused murderer. It’s morally incomprehensible you’d even consider such a thing.”
    “Isn’t the accused presumed innocent until proven guilty? Besides, there’s no conflict of interest.”
    He shrugs, a clear dismissal of my argument. “Maybe not legally, but morally there is. It’s very simple, Trenton. If you want to represent Mitchell Brooks, you can no longer be a member of this firm.”
    Disgust pours out of my every pore. “And this is the decision of the management committee?”
    “It is. We took a vote this morning. It was unanimous.”
    It’s a power play, plain and simple. Dick never wanted me in the firm and has always resented the hell out of me for being made partner. Rising to my feet, I drill my closed fists into the conference table. “If you expect me to drop Mitch’s representation, you’re sadly mistaken.”
    The son of a bitch smirks. “I expect you’ll represent him no matter the harm to your career. You never were able to look out for yourself. Always trying to save those poor souls who couldn’t afford representation. You refused to look out for the bottom line.”
    How he can make that argument is beyond me. He’s the one who insisted on hiring high-priced lawyers for his practice group who contribute very little to the financial welfare of the firm. “You do realize that many of my clients will follow me? The moment I hang out my shingle somewhere else, they’ll flock to my new firm en masse.”
    He waves his hand as if the thought does not bother him one whit. “So be it. I don’t really care.”
    “You will when their money flows my way. This firm is already on shaky ground. When my clients turn to me, you won’t have enough money to run it.”
    Leaning forward, he steeples his hands over the conference table. “So you’re leaving?” He voices the question as if the answer means less than nothing to him.
    “You know damn well I’m not going to turn down representing Mitch.”
    “I thought that would be your decision. Good-bye, Trenton.” He thinks he’s won. Son of a bitch.
    On the way back to my floor, I wrestle my emotions under control. I’ll be damned if I allow my temper to show. I walk into my office to discover my computer has already been disconnected as well as my phone. Someone from support services helps me pack. Even after all these years in the firm, I have few mementos. My law school diploma, a photo of Mitch and me, a Montblanc pen he gave me when I passed the bar. It takes no time at all to stuff everything into a file box. Someone from Human Resources shows up to take my office key card. I walk out of the place where I’ve worked for eight years with my head held high. Not one person meets my gaze. Nobody wants to witness my walk of shame, but I know there are plenty of eyes peering out their glass-enclosed offices while I wait for the elevator that will take me away from this fucking place.
    Once I reach the garage, I drop my pitiful box of belongings in the backseat of my Jag. Driving up to street level, I hand my parking pass to the attendant. I most certainly will never use it again, and he can sell it to someone else for the remainder of the month.
    “You’re not coming back, Mr. Steele?”
    “No. I’m not.”
    “Good luck, then.”
    “Same to you, Harry. Same to you.”
    I pull into the E Street traffic, hang a left on 15th, and head on home to my Crystal City condo. There I’ll plan my next move, but only after I get good and drunk.

    Hours later, a strident buzzing wakes me. “What the hell?” Somebody’s calling from downstairs. Sitting up, I press the button that connects me with the concierge on the first floor.
    “Mr. Steele, there’s a Madrigal Berkeley here to see you, sir.” It’s Tommy.