Her frown was instantaneous. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he was quick to assure her. But at her look of...was that pity?...he continued, “Nothing other than what you already know,” he told her. “Do you have a minute for me?”
“You could have called...” She glanced at her phone again. And Liam noticed how thick and full her short black hair was. How it made a guy want to run his fingers through it.
Wondering if the two men who’d just entered the building had noticed.
His first indication that he wasn’t as...okay...as he’d thought.
“I was out anyway. The receptionist said you were on your last appointment.” He wanted her to see him as a client.
“I’ve only got about fifteen minutes,” she said. “You want to have dinner with Marie and me tonight? We can all three talk then—all night if you need to.”
He wasn’t a college boy anymore, needing absolution. “I’ll take the fifteen minutes, if you can give them to me,” he said, his tone calm. But serious. “I’d like to speak with you professionally, Gabi. You take on personal clients occasionally, when your workload allows...”
“Yeah...”
“So...do you have room for me?”
“You want to hire me?” Her mouth hung open as she looked up at him. Those silvery-blue eyes familiar—and yet different somehow. “What about George? And the attorney you told your father you’d hire for him?”
That’s what he needed to talk to her about. And... “Dad’s attorneys will be seeing to him. I’m asking you to represent me.” Looking around them, at the people coming and going, passing by, he added, “Can we go to your office?” Surely it had a door. He picked up his briefcase.
“Of course.” She led the way with quick steps, glancing back at him to say, “And of course I have time for you. I’d make it even if I didn’t.”
Liam wasn’t surprised at the words. He’d known she would.
He was just a little taken aback by the sudden flood of relief pouring through him.
* * *
“GEORGE THREATENED TO have you physically removed from the building?” Gabrielle stopped short of shaking her head, but, in truth, she felt a little dizzy with the turn of events over the past twenty-four hours.
Liam, the one who’d lived the privileged life, was in her office, seeking her help. As though she wasn’t just a confessional, she was an equal. Worthy enough to be on the front page of his life rather than tucked into a small space three pages from the end.
Sitting behind her large, but old and scarred desk in a room that might have appeared big enough if not for the floor-to-ceiling bookcases filling two walls and the file cabinets along the third, Gabi asked, “Didn’t he get your father out on bail?”
She had windows, but because her office was on the first floor and passersby could see in, she had to keep the blinds partially closed. And because all of the other walls were taken, the windows were behind her.
Absolutely nothing like the office he’d had, with its high-rise view of the entire city of Denver spread out before him while he’d been at his desk.
Upright in the wood-framed chair in front of her desk, he’d be able to see through the windows, though. “Yes, Dad’s been released on his own recognizance,” he told her. “The prosecutor chose to send the case to a grand jury rather than press charges himself.”
She nodded. “In a case like this, I’d expect that. The grand jury is a closed session without the defendant or defendant’s lawyers present. The prosecutor presents his evidence, including witnesses, and the jury decides whether or not there is sufficient evidence to warrant charges. Of course, even if the grand jury decides there is not, the prosecutor could still press charges, but it’s not likely he’d do so. His chances of getting a guilty verdict from a trial jury would be pretty slim if he couldn’t convince the grand jury with no defense being presented.”
“It’s like a pretrial, then,” Liam said.
“Right. It’s a way for the prosecutor to present his evidence to a jury without the defense knowing what that evidence is, to see if what he has warrants the expense of a trial.”
“How long does that take?”
She shrugged, knowing what Liam needed most was honesty, when what she wanted to do was assure her friend that it would all be over soon. “It could be quick, but in a complicated case like a Ponzi scheme, it could take months. Or longer.”
As he sat there looking grim, she asked, “What time did he get out?”
“I have no idea.”
“Didn’t he call you when he got home last night?”