Once A Liar. A.F. Brady

      “Thanks. Sit, have a drink.” I wave at a large leather chair in the corner of my office.

      “Drink? It’s 8:20 in the morning.” Sinan oozes sophistication.

      I look up at him and smile. “You Muslims and your prohibitions.”

      “Mmm,” he sneers. “I have something else for you, as well.” Sinan reclines in the leather chair and fiddles with a marble chessboard on the table next to him. “A blast from your past is on his way back out into the world.”

      “Back out? When did I ever have a client who went in?” I run my fingers through my hair, knowing full well to whom Sinan is referring.

      “You should know exactly who I’m talking about, especially since he stands pretty much alone in your guilty column.”

      “Bogovian?” I blurt when Sinan substantiates my fears. “You’re telling me Stu Bogovian is getting out? Has it been that long already?” Stu Bogovian was a New York congressman with a penchant for sexual assault. He came from an outrageously wealthy family who paid his victims for their silence, leaving Stu to never learn any self-control. I can’t believe he could be released so soon. Seems like yesterday he went to prison, not the nearly twenty years it’s really been.

      “Yes, love. Stu Bogovian is getting paroled next Thursday. Mark your calendar!” Sinan holds up his hands and twinkles his fingers in mock celebration. “You think he still hates you after all this time?”

      “Back off, Sinan.” I feel the ugly anger rising in my stomach. “Who’s representing him now?”

      “Some Harvard prat. But don’t fret, darling,” Sinan teases, “no one remembers that you were the one who couldn’t get Stu off, and from the trial transcripts, it sounds like Stu had no problem getting off!” Sinan laughs and knocks over the white marble queen with a thin black bishop shaped like an obelisk.

      “He doesn’t hate me—no one hates me.” I swallow the acrid taste of defeat. “He hates Harrison Doyle. And he hates that ADA twerp who put him away, whatever his name was.”

      “You remember the assistant district attorney’s name,” Sinan sighs, knowing I wouldn’t dare forget.

      “Someone who cared would remember his name.” I try to focus my attention on anything other than the Bogovian trial and the birth of my vendetta against Harrison Doyle. Sinan grins at me and emits a low grumbling laugh, amused to know I still get flustered. I draw in a deep breath and wrangle my irritation.

      “Are you coming to this cocktail thing tonight?” Sinan probes, changing the subject. “I’m bringing a very beautiful young man from St. Louis.”

      “You don’t even know where St. Louis is,” I say. Sinan, brilliant though he may be, is hopelessly elitist and thinks America is made up of Manhattan and Los Angeles.

      “This is true. He’s dead from the neck up, but gorgeous. You should come tonight and bring Claire. She’s kind enough to talk to my beautiful St. Louis boy, so I won’t have to.” Sinan smiles and blinks his long eyelashes, trying to convince me.

      “Sorry, my friend, I won’t be able to get Claire to butter up your plaything for you. I’m not going to the party. I have drinks with Harrison tonight.”

      “Why do you continue to spend time with that terminally classless man?”

      “He’s useful,” I say. “We should have him in our pocket.” My nerves settle as I remind myself that I am in control, and Harrison’s time at the top is limited. “And you should be facilitating these kinds of relationships, too.” I wave a gold pen in Sinan’s direction. “Not just lapping up the affections of impressionable Missourians.”

      “I bet he’s going to rub the Bogovian thing right in your face tonight. Try not to lose your temper and knock him out.”

       THEN

      Juliette and I went on four dates before I found out who her father was. Each time I picked her up at her apartment, she was already waiting for me in the lobby, so I never had to announce myself to her doorman and ask for her last name. It was over brunch at Union Square Cafe that I finally made the connection while I told Juliette of the first major case I was working on at my new firm.

      “We were hired to represent Congressman Stuart Bogovian,” I began. “It’s just the kind of case we need to get noticed quickly.” I explained to Juliette that since the firm was still new, having such a high-profile case right off the bat would get us the notoriety we were looking for. My partner, Marcus Rhodes, had been working for himself for decades, so he brought along a caseload as well as his reputation. I wasn’t able to bring any of my clients from my previous firm, so when we were called about Bogovian, Marcus encouraged me to take on the case.

      Bogovian was rich, slippery and completely unaffected by the expected behavior of decent society. Entitled to the degree that he viewed people as property, he never encountered a problem he couldn’t pay his way out of. He had been charged with assault and attempted rape in the first degree. Allegedly, he pinned an intern between his desk and bookcase, tied her arms and stripped her of her clothes, intending to rape her, but she broke free and escaped.

      I didn’t want to share too much information about the case with Juliette, even though it was already in the news. I worried that she would get the wrong impression of me and the work I was doing if she saw the people I represented as monsters who didn’t deserve freedom. I wanted her to see that they were people who required the best defense just like anyone else, and I was hired to uphold the law, plain and simple.

      She already seemed to be getting uncomfortable when I talked about work; leaning away from me, responding with one-word answers and not really engaging. I wanted to assure her that I was one of the good guys, despite my profession’s reputation.

      “You’re going to be the congressman’s defense attorney?” she asked, not making eye contact.

      “Yes,” I said cheerfully. “Marcus and I agreed that I should take the lead on Mr. Bogovian’s case.”

      “Your partner’s name is Marcus?” She looked at me curiously, a forkful of salad balanced in front of her mouth.

      “Yes, Marcus Rhodes. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

      Juliette let out a single burst of laughter. “Yes, I’ve heard of him,” she snorted. “Marcus Rhodes is my father.”

      “Your father?” I balked. I should have known; her smile seemed so familiar. I was almost jealous. I looked up to Marcus, nearly regarding him as a father figure, much more so than my actual father. I almost felt that I wanted to keep him for myself and not share him with Juliette. “He didn’t tell you he was starting a new partnership? You couldn’t have thought it was a coincidence?”

      “No, he doesn’t involve me in his business life. I had no idea he was starting something new.” She shook her head, seeming disconnected.

      “I’m sure I’ve mentioned his name before today. Didn’t you know I was talking about him?”

      “Honestly, no. When you told me he left a card with no number, that sounded like a move my father would pull, but I didn’t know for sure.” She ate her salad as if this realization were no big deal, while I felt like the news was prodigious. I was working with Marcus Rhodes and dating his daughter. This was the world I was supposed to be in. Everything was beginning to feel right.

      “I can’t believe you’re Marcus’s daughter,” I marveled. “What a serendipitous coincidence.”

      Still seeming a bit uneasy, she agreed, amazed that the world could be so small. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing getting involved in a case like this with my father?”

      “Yes,