Tattered Justice

The phone died with a click in the Houston law office. No other words—short, simple and to the point. Taylor McMasters had summoned her to his office. End of the conversation and her career. Kayla Nugent had expected a phone call, but hadn’t thought she’d get the death penalty.
In a fog, she rose from her chair, crossed her arms, and stared at the picture of her father on her desk. She’d failed as a daughter and now as an attorney. Her fingers slid over the cold plastic cover of the Deason trial transcript, but she didn’t bother to open it. Kayla already knew it word for word.
“Might as well get it over with,” she said to the empty office. When she opened her door, silence greeted her. The third floor of the building, usually a hub of noise, conversations, clicking computer keys, and ringing phones, held a vigil in her honor.
Everyone knew about the meeting before she received the call. This kind of news spread through the office like a grassfire during a drought. Sarah Jane, Kayla’s administrative assistant, wiped her eyes and averted her gaze.
Kayla didn’t stop to say anything to her or anyone else. She trudged to the elevator and hit the top floor button. The doors shut and a low whine carried her upward. Once before, she’d taken this trip—eight years before when she interviewed for her job. In all the years she’d worked for the law firm of McMasters, Sullivan, and Bedford, four attorneys had made this trip twice. All four had a brief visit to the sixth floor then returned to clean out their offices. Taylor McMasters, the firm’s CEO, only encountered the attorneys working under him on two occasions—hiring them and firing them.
When Kayla exited the elevator on the sixth floor, she adjusted the beige jacket over her white blouse, took a deep breath, and stood straight. Her pulse throbbed at the temples and her hands shook, but she would not give them the satisfaction of begging or groveling. She didn’t know what she would do from this point on in her life, had never considered that they would fire her, but she would at least go out as her father would have.
The secretary didn’t say a word. She just pointed to McMasters’ office door. Kayla hesitated, not knowing if she should knock or enter. She chose to enter.
She froze in the doorway. She didn’t know what to expect—perhaps McMasters behind his desk, a short, formal sentence: “You’re fired. Clean out your office and get out.”
McMasters did sit behind his desk, but why did it take Homer Sullivan, Ralph Bedford, and Edward Harkens to fire her? She’d spoken with Sullivan and Bedford a couple of times, but never in a formal setting. All assignments and performance reviews went through Edward Harkens, rumored as the next partner in the firm.
McMasters’ intense blue eyes shone from beneath clouds of white brows, matching a shock of hair. He indicated a chair. “Have a seat, Kayla.” His voice twanged like a guitar out of tune.
She took a deep breath. “I’d prefer to stand, sir.”
His lips thinned and the intense eyes darkened. “I said sit.”
Kayla debated a moment, but sat, back straight, hands in her lap.
McMasters indicated for the others to sit without removing his gaze from Kayla. “You finally lost a case.”
She wasn’t sure McMasters had asked her a question or made a statement, and nodded. What was this? Did they plan to crucify her before they fired her? She wished they’d just get it over with.
McMasters leaned back. “Deason has retained another attorney and plans to appeal, of course. Word is his new attorney will file a motion for ineffective counsel. Deason claims he insisted on testifying on his own behalf, but you refused to let him. Is this true?”
Kayla glanced at the others out of the corner of her eye. Neither McMasters nor the others seemed that upset with the jury verdict, and this surprised her. If they didn’t call her up here to fire her for that, why were they firing her? She straightened her skirt. “I didn’t refuse to let him testify. As you know, sir, that is not in my realm as an attorney. I strongly advised him against it and told him that if he testified and perjured himself on the stand, I was duty bound by law to inform the court.”
McMasters leaned forward, opened a drawer, took out a cigar and clipped the end. When he had it going with smoke spiraling to the ceiling, he pointed it at Kayla. “So he confessed to you.”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“Good call on that one,” Bedford said.
Surprised, Kayla turned to Bedford. She knew she’d made the right call, but why were the partners admitting it? “Thank you, sir.”
Kayla glanced at the floor as Bedford continued, taking his compliment back. “You know if you hadn’t said anything, no one but you and he would have known.”
Her head snapped up. “Sir, I would’ve known, and it isn’t ethical.” Her father had taught her since the time she could talk that too many attorneys get so caught up in winning or losing, they forget the ethics they swore to uphold. Then they were no better than the person they defended.
Her attention shifted to McMasters when he said, “Kayla.”
He puffed on his cigar and drummed his fingers on the chair arm. “Why do you think we hired you at this firm?”
His question threw her for a loop. She knew exactly why they’d hired her. She looked him straight in the eye. “Sir, you hired me because of my father.”
McMasters stabbed his cigar out in the ashtray on the corner of his desk, then folded his arms. “Jared Nugent and I go way back, and I considered him a friend. He was without a doubt the best criminal defense attorney I ever saw in my life, and I have seen quite a few over my fifty-five years as an attorney. Although he was a friend, my first obligation has always been to my own firm and our clients. I’d never hire an attorney in this firm as a favor to anyone.”
She blinked. Why hadn’t they told her why they were firing her? She knew what he meant. He’d hired her on her abilities. Now, he fired her for the same reason.
“Kayla, have you read the newspaper or watched the news in the last day or so?” Sullivan asked.
Her brows creased at the top of her nose. “No, sir. I’ve been rather busy.”
“Have you heard of Michelle McCrery, the author?” Sullivan asked.
Still confused, Kayla nodded, then answered. “She’s a best-selling romance author.” In fact, McCrery was Kayla’s favorite author, and she read her books anytime she had a chance.
Sullivan nodded. “Someone murdered her last night.”
“Murdered!”
Sullivan tapped on his chin with an index finger. “The police are questioning a suspect. The suspect and her father have contacted us. We are assigning you to this case.”
She tried to stop her mouth from falling open. She wanted to show no emotion, but knew she’d failed when McMasters chuckled. “Not everyone we summon up here is fired.”
She blinked. “Ah—who—I mean.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Who is the suspect?”
“Lawrence Estes’ daughter, Loren Estes.”
Kayla’s chin dropped to her chest and she closed her eyes. Why couldn’t they have just fired me?
When she opened her eyes, all the partners stared at her. She wanted to shout that they couldn’t do that to her. Anything—anyone but Loren Estes. She hadn’t seen that woman in five years and didn’t want to now.
Her stomach churned and she thought she’d become ill in the office in front of the partners. Too many memories associated with Loren Estes—Kayla’s divorce and then her ex’s suicide.
As far as she was concerned, the police could throw Loren Estes under the jail. Good riddance.
“Is there a problem?” Sullivan asked.
She hesitated for what seemed like hours. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’m the one who should represent this bi—woman. We know each other too well.”
McMasters leaned back in his seat. “Lawrence Estes is this firm’s oldest client. His retainer is enough to pay the yearly salary of five attorneys. His daughter specifically demanded that you represent her. Her father does not like her choice, but Loren gets what she wants.”
McMasters took out another cigar and lit it. Again, smoke rose as he sucked to get it going, discharging an odor of burning dirty socks.
He didn’t need to tell her that. Loren Estes got what she wanted—no matter who she hurt. Kayla threw her last ante into the pot. “Sir, if this goes to trial, no judge would let me represent her. I’ve never defended a capital case.”
McMasters pointed his cigar at her. “You aced your certification test and I don’t know anyone besides you who has. I passed myself, but I didn’t ace it. Besides that, you have assisted in four capital cases. You’re wrong. All judges in the state of Texas will approve you as lead defense council.”
McMasters stood, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward. “Loren, her father, and a private investigator they’ve retained from Chicago will be here in five hours to meet with you. In that time, you need to find someone to assist you. Who—that’s your choice.”
Arguing with them would not help. She rose and plodded toward the door. McMasters stopped her when her hand circled the doorknob. “One last thing.”
She turned to face him.
“Don’t screw this up.”