Losing Faith Part 3

"And . . . what does that have to do with me?"

"You're doing it again," Garkov says. "One of the things I've read about you, Aaron, is that you're quite the poker player. I was particularly intrigued by an interview you did a while back-I apologize, but I can't remember the particular publication in which it appeared-but in it you said that being a first-cla.s.s poker player requires similar skills as being a first-cla.s.s lawyer. The ability to review facts dispa.s.sionately, adapt quickly to changing events, and find a path for success even when the odds are not in your favor." Garkov's smile vanishes, replaced with an icy stare. "Now, you'd be wise not to try to bluff me unless you think you can actually pull it off. And I think you and I both know that you can't, because I have the winning hand here."

Garkov's right, but Aaron's determined to play this all the way out. Poker is often as much about knowing your opponent as the cards, after all.

"You apparently believe that I hold some type of sway over Judge Nichols," Aaron says. "But I'm sure you know that the last time I appeared before her, it didn't exactly turn out well for my client."

That was something of an understatement. Aaron's last case before Faith Nichols was the one he had referenced to Joe Malone-the defense of Eric Matthews.

Matthews was the CEO of a small public company called Time Sensitive, which made low-cost watches. The company was acquired by a huge multinational, and Matthews's golden parachute on the deal netted him nearly four million dollars. Although that should have been more than enough of a payday, Matthews surrept.i.tiously acquired another million shares of Time Sensitive stock and stashed it in offsh.o.r.e accounts, knowing that once the acquisition was announced, the value of those shares would double. That bit of trading on material, nonpublic information netted Matthews another three million bucks, and a seven-count criminal indictment as the cherry on top. A jury found him guilty and Judge Nichols sentenced him to fourteen years, the longest insider-trading sentence in history.

"Yes, I know all about your prior dealings with Judge Nichols on Mr. Matthews's behalf," Garkov says. "But there's a critical difference between my case and his."

Garkov waits a beat before delivering his payoff line: "He didn't know you were f.u.c.king the judge, and I do."

Aaron can't help but do a double take. It's not that he's surprised. He knew that this had to be Garkov's ace in the hole from the moment Sabato mentioned Faith's name, but the crude way Garkov's come out with it is startling nonetheless.

It takes Aaron's full effort to remain composed, trying to resist saying something imprudent. There's no good comeback for that type of charge other than denial, and that's not an option here.

"I hope we can now finally dispense with the posturing," Garkov says quietly. "I'm not an expert in legal or judicial ethics, but I'm relatively certain that s.e.xual relations between a judge and defense counsel is not something condoned by the bar a.s.sociation or the committee on judicial conduct . . . Now, I'm not sure if they'd send a lawyer to jail for lying to his client, but disbarment seems inevitable, and I'm also quite certain that poor Mr. Matthews will sue you for millions. And that's to say nothing of the personal ramifications of such a disclosure. Your wife, Cynthia. Your two daughters, Lindsay and Samantha. They're seniors at Brunswick Academy, aren't they? It's a terrible thing when a father loses the respect of his children."

Aaron can feel a slow-burning rage taking hold, but he tells himself to keep it in check. It's advice he often gives to clients-no one is at their best when they're angry.

"How'd you find out?" he asks, largely because he thought he and Faith were very careful in that regard.

"How?" Garkov says with a smile. "It's always been my humble opinion that 'How?' is not a very interesting question. I find out so many things from so many different sources that it's difficult for me to keep track of the how. No, what you should be asking about, Aaron, is not how but why."

"I think I already know the why. It seems to me that you're less interested in securing my legal services than you are in finding someone to help you blackmail a federal judge," Aaron says in a measured tone. "Which brings me to this question: if you have evidence that Judge Nichols and I engaged in inappropriate conduct, why do you need me at all? You already have Roy Sabato willing to do your bidding. Just get him to blackmail Judge Nichols."

"I thought about that, and that's still a very real possibility," Garkov says, "but that would require bringing Roy into the loop. I don't see why you'd want that. Nor do I, because I believe you will be far more persuasive with Judge Nichols. So, in this regard, our interests are aligned."

"I'm sorry to have to burst your bubble, but my relations.h.i.+p with Judge Nichols is over. She doesn't do me any favors these days. Just ask Eric Matthews."

Garkov gives a small laugh. "I have confidence in you, Aaron. If you explain to her what's at stake, then I'm sure she'll see the light."

It's very rare that Aaron feels outmatched. Very rare, indeed. But Garkov has been a step ahead of him in every detail. If the poker a.n.a.logy isn't a perfect one, it's apt enough-once the other side knows you're bluffing, you need to fold.

7.

Sam Rosenthal storms into Aaron's office, looking nothing short of irate.

"No!" he shouts at Aaron. "What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?! You cannot do this. Not now!"

Rosenthal's rage is like clockwork. Two minutes earlier, an e-mail went out to the members of the Committee on Committees, explaining that Nicolai Garkov was the newest client of Cromwell Altman Rosenthal and White.

Rosenthal limps toward Aaron's desk. His expression is as grim as if someone has just died.

"Aaron, the man is a terrorist and a murderer. Worse than that, he's going to kill our corporate practice. Do you want to see Donald Pierce running this place? Because if you do, congratulations, this is precisely the way to do it!"

Aaron reflects for a moment, playing out the conversation where he tells Rosenthal everything. He's had this internal monologue a dozen times since his affair with Faith began and each time stopped short of letting the words come out.

He's not sure why he hasn't yet confided in Rosenthal. It's not fear of professional repercussions, as he trusts Rosenthal with his life. Rather, he surmises it's the same reason that his daughters don't tell him of their own failures-the fear of disappointing the person who thinks the most highly of you. And so he sits there mute, his eyes glued to his shoes, feeling like a scared child.

The silence between them lasts long enough to become a third partic.i.p.ant in the discussion. "Did you ever read The Old Man and the Sea?" Rosenthal finally says.

Aaron knows Rosenthal's story is going to relate back to Garkov, but for the moment he's just happy to be discussing something else. "No. I read The Sun Also Rises, if that counts," Aaron says, managing a weak smile.

"Opposite lessons, I'm afraid. The point of The Old Man and the Sea was that sometimes having b.a.l.l.s can be a problem, too. It's about an old fisherman who's down on his luck, and after months at sea, he captures this huge marlin. But he's too weak to pull it into the boat, and so he sails home with it hanging over the side. As he does, sharks attack the marlin. The old fisherman is fighting them to exhaustion, but by the time he finally makes it to sh.o.r.e, there's nothing left of the marlin but bones."

"What do you want me to take from this little lit cla.s.s, Sam?"

"That sometimes it's not readily apparent whether you have the fish or the fish has you."

"So you think Garkov has me?"

"I can't think of any other reason you'd take him on as a client."

The lawyer in Aaron knows that speaking about certain things can only lead to trouble later, and the commission of a crime, like blackmailing a federal judge, is one of them. But lying to Rosenthal isn't something Aaron's ever done before, either.

"Sam . . . just give me a little time to work things out on this, okay? And believe me, I wouldn't be taking on Nicolai Garkov unless the alternative was far worse than anything you've imagined Donald Pierce will do."

"That hardly puts me at ease, Aaron."

"It's not supposed to, Sam. It's supposed to convey that I'm trying to protect you. You and the firm. Plausible deniability."

Rosenthal shakes his head in disagreement. "Aaron, I can't make you tell me, but I can tell you that you never have to s.h.i.+eld me from anything. If you have a problem, it's my problem too. Whatever is going on, know that I'm with you. One hundred percent."

Aaron doubts many things-not the least of which is his own judgment of late-but the loyalty of Sam Rosenthal is not one of them. At the same time, he doesn't want to share what a colossal mistake he's made if there's any possibility he doesn't have to.

"I'm just asking for a few days, Sam. If I can't fix it by then, I'll come to you. I promise."

RACHEL LONDON LOOKS MUCH happier arriving at Aaron's office than Sam Rosenthal was when he left ten minutes earlier.

"Thanks for saving the day with Joe Malone," Rachel says. "Sometimes you make me feel a little like Lois Lane."

"My pleasure. How'd it work out?"

"Client gave the okay to start settlement talks."

"Good. I think that's the right call, especially if you can get him three years."

"Yeah, I didn't get that," Rachel says, deadpan. "I got a year and a day, though," she adds, breaking into a full-on grin. "And, needless to say, Malone jumped at it. All of a sudden, admitting guilt wasn't such a moral quandary for him anymore."

"Wow. Well done, Rachel."

"I try."

"That kind of good work calls for a reward. How would you like to work with me on the hottest case in the country right now?"

"I was hoping for a three-week paid vacation."

"C'mon, Rachel, what fun can you have on a Caribbean island that competes with working around the clock for Nicolai Garkov?"

Rachel's smile vanishes. "He's the client?"

"Since about an hour ago."

Rachel's professional enough not to show concern, but Aaron can see the tell, the small crinkle at the side of her mouth, which she attempts to hide by turning her head toward her notepad.

"I . . . thought Roy Sabato was repping him," she says.

"He was. Now we are."

"And it's before Judge Nichols now, right?"

Rachel was second-in-command during the Matthews trial, and so she saw firsthand how Aaron interacted with Faith, which gives her comment added weight. But Aaron dismisses the thought that Rachel has figured out his dirty secret and a.s.sumes she is referring solely to the harsh sentence Faith ended up handing down.

"You're not afraid of her, are you?" Aaron says, trying to return to their previous banter.

Rachel, however, appears to be in no joking mood. She looks very much afraid.

"The truth, Aaron?"

"I expect nothing less."

"This is going to give Donald Pierce a lot of ammunition."

"Maybe, but the decision's been made."

"And that's what worries me. You know you shouldn't be doing it, and yet you still are."

The statement equally applies to his affair with Faith. But unlike then, now he has little choice.

Through a soft smile he says, "So are you with me in this terrible mistake that I'm making?"

With Rachel, this is a rhetorical question. Her loyalty is a given.

"Of course," she says. "Always."

THERE WAS NO MORE unwelcome a visitor Aaron could have imagined as he was getting ready to leave for the day than Donald Pierce.

Pierce hasn't called ahead, most likely because he knew he would have been told that Aaron was unavailable, which was Aaron's standing order to Diane whenever Pierce asked for a meeting.

It is undoubtedly for this same reason that Pierce does not stop at Diane's desk. Rather, he just walks straight into Aaron's office.

"I need to talk to you," he says. "It's important."

Everything about Donald Pierce is thin-his lips, his eyes, the few strands of hair still left on his head. He reminds Aaron of one of those little dogs that snarls and yips at everyone. The kind that seems crazy enough to strike at things twice its size.

Aaron debates saying that he's in the middle of something, but that will lead to Pierce's asking for time on Aaron's calendar. Scheduled meetings are presumed to go on for at least a half hour, whereas a pop-in could be cut short by the next phone call.

"I'm on my way out, Donald," Aaron says, laying the groundwork for his exit, "but we can talk for a second."

To prove the point that this is going to be a short meeting, Aaron doesn't offer Pierce a seat. Even worse, Aaron gets up and walks to his closet, retrieving his coat, which sends the unmistakable message that Aaron has allotted two minutes, if that, to whatever Pierce has to say.

Pierce gives the room a once-over-as if he's imagining how he'll redecorate when he becomes chairman of the firm-and then says, "I've already spoken with most of the other members of the COC. We're all in agreement on this, Aaron. We should not be taking Garkov on as a client."

"And why not? He's got a Sixth Amendment right to counsel, doesn't he?"

Pierce rolls his eyes. "I'm not a big believer in the whole everybody-deserves-to-be-represented thing, and even if everyone is ent.i.tled to a lawyer, that doesn't mean that they're ent.i.tled to Cromwell Altman. But let's not cite the Const.i.tution to each other. This firm's mission isn't to defend the innocent. It's to make money for the partners. And taking on a G.o.dd.a.m.ned terrorist like Garkov is going to cost our corporate group eight figures, easy. We'll be radioactive as far as the big banks are concerned. Not to mention that when the representation becomes public, it's going to send the a.s.sociates flying to headhunters, and you can bet the press is going to be all over us."

"Come on, Don. This firm has taken on lots of unpopular causes. It's what lawyers are supposed to do."

"They're not supposed to p.i.s.s away tens of millions of dollars in corporate business."

Just like with Rosenthal, Aaron knows Pierce is right. There is simply no logical argument for why Cromwell Altman would represent Garkov. Unlike with Rosenthal, however, Aaron doesn't give even a pa.s.sing thought to telling Pierce the truth. Instead, he falls back on the old adage that the best defense is a good offense.

"If you're half the lawyer you're always telling me you are, Don, then I would think that the big banks would be rus.h.i.+ng to retain your services no matter who I decide to represent. So if you can't hold on to your clients, don't go blaming me."

Before Pierce can respond, Aaron pushes past him and leaves for the day.

8.

Faith Nichols lives in a Tribeca loft designed by her architect husband, Stuart Christensen. She bought the place when she was single and furnished it in a shabby-chic style. Stuart spent the first year of their married life replacing all of Faith's furniture and gutting the interior, right down to the studs. Now it's minimalist with a capital M, which means that the s.p.a.ce is very beautiful but somewhat difficult to live in.

More than once Faith has mused that her home is a metaphor for her life.

"Something smells good," she says, catching a strong whiff of garlic.

"It's pasta night," Stuart calls out. "You know how I like my pasta, right?"

"Yes, I know," she says with a forced laugh.