Radclyffe - When Dreams Tremble

CHAPTER ONE

All set to add another notch to your belt, LJ?

Leslie Harris glanced up from the deposition transcript, hiding her annoyance at

the interruption and the uninvited familiarity.

Shed made the mistake of leaving her of ce door partly open when shed

arrived at 4:30 a.m., and now she discovered with a quick glance at her Piaget it

was close to seven, and the troops were arriving. It wasnt like her to lose track

of the time.

Absently tucking a strand of her shoulder-length, ash blond hair behind her ear,

she smiled automatically at the junior associate who leaned into her of ce.

Mentally, she ran his stats. Tom Smith. Eager, just like every other ambitious

young attorney, and smart enough to recognize the important players in the

rm. Points for that. Just the slightest bit obvious with his irtatious attention.

Minor demerit. She crossed her silk-stocking-clad legs beneath the skirt of her

custom-tailored Armani suit and shrugged. Just another day at the of ce,

Tom.

Oh yeah. Like its every day we take on the Feds with a couple of million at

stake.

Uh-huh. Actually, for her it was a near-daily occurrence, because defending

corporations in big-ticket, high-pro le lawsuits was her specialty. And she

liked to win. Every time. Her ferocious drive had shaped her career from the

start, as had her unfailing ability to read a jury and emphasize just the right

aspects of the case to garner their sympathy. Shed fast-tracked to partner

seven years out of law school, and her pace, if anything, had picked up in the

last year since shed moved into a corner of ce.

But she had neither the time nor the inclination to point all this out to Tom. Shed

barely squeezed in her daily workout at the gym before coming to the of ce to

prepare for a big morning in court. She was also juggling six other cases that

were every bit as important as the one she was due to defend in two hours

before the United States District Court for the Eastern District of New York.

She reached for her fourth cup of coffee of the morning and went back to

reading.

Get you something from the coffee shop, LJ? Bagel?

What? Leslie glanced up again, surprised to see Tom still standing there.

Didnt he have any work to do? No. Thanks. Im ne.

Breakfast wasnt on her schedule. Shed be lucky if she remembered to grab a

yogurt at lunch, because the midday recess was a critical time to recap the case

with her client and revamp strategy. Working lunch was just a euphemism for

more work, and rarely included food. Fortunately, as far as tough battles went,

todays case was middle-of-the-road.

United States v. Harlan Vehicles, LLC, et al. She knew the facts verbatim of

course, but her defense wouldnt center on the facts. It was true that her client,

Harlan Vehicles, had imported 11,000 pieces of gasoline- and diesel-powered

equipment over the past nine months that didnt meet the federal Clean Air Act

emission requirements. Arguing that point would be folly, because the measured

levels of smog-forming volatile organic compounds and nitrous oxides in the

exhaust was irrefutable. She never based a case on discrediting the science,

because Americans were programmed to believe facts and gures. No, her

ammunition had to be more personal, something that Joe Juror could relate to.

And when the federal government assessed the company millions of dollars in

penalties and nes after the special agents from the Justice Department and

U.S. Customs seized the equipment, she had just the weapon she needed.

She couldnt make the charges go away, but she didnt need to.

After all, what average citizen couldnt be made to appreciate that levying

crippling costs on Harlan meant a higher price tag for them the next time they

went to buy a snowmobile for their kids for Christmas?

In this kind of case, reducing the monetary damages to tens of thousands rather

than millions of dollarswhat amounted to a slap on the wrist for a corporation

the size of Harlanwas a major win.

Still mentally reviewing the order of her witness list, Leslie drained her coffee

cup and rose to get a re ll. As a sudden wave of

dizziness rolled through her, she dropped her coffee cup onto the thick Persian

rug. Re exively, she braced both arms on the desk, lowered her head, and

took several long, slow breaths. It was frighteningly dif cult to catch her breath,

and her heart felt as if it might dance its way up her throat and right out of her

body. She blinked and forced herself to focus on the pens and papers covering

her desk until the room stopped spinning and the black curtain obscuring her

vision lifted. Then, when she was sure she wasnt going to faint, she carefully

lowered herself into her chair. Worried that someone might have witnessed her

spell or whatever the hell it was, she checked the door to be sure no one was

nearby.

Thankfully, the hall was empty. The last thing she needed was for her colleagues

to get the impression that she wasnt up to form.

Her adversaries in the courtroom werent the only ones who killed the weak.

She got along well with her partners, but she wouldnt exactly call them her

friends. Nevertheless, the thin veneer covering aggressive competitiveness didnt

bother her. This was the battle eld she had chosen, or perhaps the one that

had chosen her, and she intended to triumph.

Ready to head over, LJ? Stephanie Ackerman called from the doorway.

Leslies paralegal, a voluptuous redhead four inches shorter than Leslies ve

foot six, pulled a rolling cart with two enormous briefcases strapped to it. In the

other hand, she carried a venti cappuccino.

Just about. Leslie smiled brightly and hoped she didnt look as pale as she felt.

Even though her breathing was more comfortable, she still felt an odd uttering

sensation in her chest. Maybe no breakfast after three hours sleep wasnt such

a good idea after all. Do me a favor and grab a Danish along with another

coffee for me, will you?

Sure. Ill meet you by the elevators.

Leslie waited until Stephanie disappeared to ll her own briefcase with the

notes and les shed need. By the time she joined Stephanie, she felt ne.

While the elevator descended, she nibbled on the Danish and scanned the

messages on her BlackBerry. When the doors slid open, she dropped the

remaining half of the pastry into a nearby wastebasket.

She didnt need food; the upcoming mental combat was all the fuel she needed

to energize her.

By three in the afternoon the next day, Leslie knew shed have another win in

her column. The trial was still a long way from over, but shed sensed the subtle

change of mood in the members of the jury, from wary and perplexedas

theyd listened to the assistant U.S.

attorney recite dry statistics and a litany of rules and regulationsto

sympathetic, when shed pointed out the massive expense and time required for

her client to comply with those same rules and regulations.

Her subtle point, time and time again, had been that Harlan Vehicles wished to

be in compliance with the law despite the heavy nancial burden placed upon

them by government regulation, and that levying huge penalties would only make

it more dif cult for them. Oh yes, any taxpayer would understand that.

As she listened to the testimony of another of the governments scienti c

experts, she ran numbers in her head, calculating how much she might be able to

rein in the penalties. A very great deal, she wagered.