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  Her last thought, perversely enough, was about who would captain the soccer team for the rest of the season. Because she knew it wouldn’t be her.

  Chapter 2

  Kenzi had a problem. Her client, Amanda Conners, the wife in the divorce, had not done well on the witness stand. Not that she lied or anything. But her nervousness translated to a cold unemotional delivery that had not moved Judge Barton in the slightest. Amanda’s husband, David Conners, on the other hand, despite being possibly the worst excuse for a husband in the history of mankind, was warm, witty, and persuasive, scoring point after point. Though the division of marital property was supposed to be a matter of cold economics, Kenzi knew that in reality judge sympathy could make a huge difference.

  She felt desperate. This case was slipping through her fingers.

  “Did you contribute to the household account?” she asked the husband, hoping to score an easy point.

  “When I was working,” David calmly replied.

  “Which hasn’t been for more than two years.”

  “I’ve been writing a novel.”

  “Which you haven’t finished. Much less sold.”

  “It’s a long-term investment. Amanda agreed to pay the bills for a while so I could create something that might pay the bills for many years to come.”

  He had a slick answer for everything. She felt perspiration beading on the sides of her head—a sure sign that she was losing. She hoped this didn’t mess up her side shave—buzzed on the left, flipped to shoulder-length on the right.

  Behind her, she saw Amanda struggling to maintain a poker face. She had been warned not to react, not to shake her head or put on emotive displays of disagreement that irritated judges and made you look untrustworthy. Amanda had suffered a lot of abuse at this man’s hands, both physical and verbal, but she was keeping her anger in check.

  “Did you help around the house?”

  “Not so much. Amanda preferred to do that work herself. She’s a control freak.”

  Another clever response—an insult to mask his marital deficiencies. This man could tap dance. But so could she. Figuratively speaking. She was wearing Sorel Ella sneakers and passing them off as court-appropriate dress shoes. Sensible footwear was an essential element of the intelligent professional woman’s look. But at the moment, she was focused on tactics. She needed to do something to turn this case around—fast. “Did you cook? Mow the lawn? Pay the bills?”

  “Not so much. Writing a novel requires a great deal of focus.”

  “So your contribution to this partnership was basically...nothing.”

  “Well, I did save Amanda’s life.”

  A decent response. “You’re referring to the convenience-store incident.”

  “Yes. We went in to pick up some coffee. A man pulled a gun. Amanda fainted. I stood up to armed robber.”

  What happened on this dreadful day was disputed, but unfortunately, Kenzi’s client had passed out and there were no security cameras, so her ability to question his account was limited. And that was a problem. A judge could forgive a great deal of uselessness for a man who had heroically faced down a huge assailant with a big gun, especially given the wave of shooting incidents that seemed to plague this nation on a daily basis. “You don’t know that Amanda would’ve died.”

  “I do. Because I was there. I saw the man.” His demeanor remained calm, but his implication was apparent. I was there, you weren’t. “Everyone else fled. I stood my ground. The creep could kill a helpless woman lying on the floor, but not a true man looking him straight in the eyes. He backed down.”

  Kenzi shifted to an arena that might give him less to brag about. “How about at home? Have you always kept your cool there?”

  “I believe I have done an admirable job of maintaining my temper in the face of...extraordinary behavior. Amanda can be completely irrational, particularly when she doesn’t get her way—which always offends a control freak—and decides to throw one of her perpetual pity parties. She needs to get some help. I mean, psychiatric help. Which I have suggested repeatedly. But she refuses.”

  “You used to be a lawyer, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “Got my degree from Gonzaga. Practiced for a few years. Didn’t care for it. Writing suits my temperament much better.”

  Maybe this was a way to poke a hole in his likeable facade. Bait him into insulting the judge’s profession. “What was it about practicing law you disliked?”

  “Frankly, the pervasive lack of ethics amongst some members of the bar.” He turned his head slightly. “No disrespect to your honor intended. I’m talking more about trial lawyers, the hotshots who take cases and milk them to death for fees, overbilling clients and making conflicts worse rather than resolving them. I think it’s disgraceful.”

  Kenzi took a handkerchief from her satchel and mopped the sides of her head. “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a well-known fact that divorce attorneys are the worst.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know it’s true.”

  “Divorce attorneys may be unpopular, since they have to deal with one of the most difficult, painful experiences in the modern world—”

  “They’re shysters. Most divorces could be resolved in an afternoon. How long has this one been dragging on? Eight months?”

  She batted the handkerchief against her forehead. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

  He smiled slightly. “Defensive much?”

  “Not at all.” Her voice quavered. “Because your petty little comments have nothing whatsoever to do with me.”

  “So you say. But I note that your face is flushed and your voice is trembling. The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

  She knew her voice was too loud, too accusatory. “No. No, it doesn’t hurt at all. Not a bit. Because it isn’t true.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  Her voice grew even louder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just...a quitter. That’s what you are. Someone who couldn’t hack it in the law so now you’re insulting those who can.”

  Judge Barton cut in. “Counsel...are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, your honor. Just fine.”

  “You seem a bit...upset. We could take a short break.”

  “I’m not letting this man off the hook.” Her voice sounded uneven, desperate. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s out to get me.”

  The judge appeared perplexed. “Do you have a fever? You appear somewhat—”

  “I’m fine. Just fine. Back off already.” She whirled on the witness. “It’s this SOB. He’s the one who’s trying to win his case by taking potshots at me.”

  “Counsel, I will not tolerate personal invective. It’s not necessary and—”

  “I think it is necessary.” She ran up to the witness stand, beads of sweat flying from her face. “What right do have to accuse me of anything? You’re just a deadbeat husband.”

  “Better than being a divorce lawyer,” he murmured.

  “Is it? Is it really?” She paced around the courtroom, swerving erratically from one direction to the next. “I had a husband once too, and you’re just like him. None of you can be trusted. You do anything you want and the law looks the other way. It’s disgusting. You think you can get away with anything. Well, not any more, loser. Your day of reckoning has arrived.”

  The witness’ eyebrows knitted together. “Your honor...I believe I'm being threatened.”

  “I know you’re being threatened,” Judge Barton replied. “Counsel, you need to lie down for a few moments and—”

  “And give him everything he wants?” she shouted. “Let him get away with murder? I’m sick to death of men getting away with murder!”

  The judge banged his gavel. “Okay, that’s it. We’re taking a recess to—”

  “No!” Kenzi’s scream pierced the courtroom. “If the law won’t stop bastards like him, I’ll take the law into my own hands!” She reached into her satchel, grabbed something, then pointed it at the witness stand. “I’ll kill you myself!”

  Someone in the gallery shrieked. David leapt out of the witness stand and cowered behind the judge’s bench. The bailiff seemed unsure what to do. All eyes were on Kenzi.

  Who was smiling.

  What she had pulled out was a small black handheld hair dryer.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked. “Not in the mood for a blow dry?”

  The courtroom slowly relaxed...in total confusion.

  The witness peeked around the edge of the judge’s bench.

  Judge Barton’s voice sounded dry and cracked. “Ms. Rivera...I need you to explain yourself.”

  “I should think no explanation is necessary, your honor.” She pointed. “Behold the mighty hero of the 7-11. Now cringing at the hem of your robe.”

  The witness slowly rose. “I thought...I thought...”

  “Yeah,” Kenzi said. “I know what you thought. What I want the court to consider is whether it seriously believes this coward stood up to an armed robber. I think he ran and hid. Just like he did today.”

  The judge slowly began to smile.

  “And honestly,” Kenzi continued, “if he’s terrified by a five-foot-six, one-hundred-and-five-pound Latinx divorce lawyer, how did he handle a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-ten-pound tattooed bodybuilder? I think he recoiled behind the beer cans.”

  The judge nodded. “I begin to see your point, counsel.”

  So did David’s lawyer. “Your honor, I object. This courtroom...stunt was deceptive and highly irregular. Counsel is engaging in theatrics that are...confusing.”

  The judge tilted his head to one side. “Oh, I think she made her point rather clearly...”

  “This was grossly improper conduct. I move for a mistrial.”

  “You can do that. And I would have to consider it. But you can’t put the genie back in the bottle. Many people in this courtroom witnessed your client’s reaction.”

  “Then I move for sanctions. Ms. Rivera’s behavior violated the Rules of Professional Conduct.”

  “Which provision?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but...”

  “Is there a provision that precludes pretending to be crackers?”

  “I’m sure it never occurred to the framers that anyone would ever—”

  “Right. We don’t penalize lawyers for being clever.” He turned to Kenzi. “And regardless of what you think of her tactics, Ms. Rivera is definitely clever. Pretty good actress, too.”

  She fanned her face with her hands. “Gosh. Thanks, your honor.”

  “You fooled everyone in the courtroom. Even my trusty bailiff.”

  Actually, she had tipped off the bailiff in advance so he wouldn’t interfere. But the judge didn’t need to know that. “Your honor, I’m done with this witness. We’re ready to submit the case and I urge the court to adopt my client’s recommendations for the division of the marital estate.”

  “I suspected as much.” Judge Barton gathered his papers and rose. “You may be a divorce lawyer, Ms. Rivera, and that may cause others to give you grief. But I’ll say this—you are never boring.”

  Chapter 3

  Kenzi strode down the sidewalks of downtown Seattle heading for her office building, just a few blocks from the courthouse. She felt like a conquering hero, and hoped that energy translate to her livestream.

  “So that’s how it went down, KenziKlan. A bit of amateur theatrics and justice was served. But let me note that this problem would never have occurred if my client had kept records and retained better evidence of her husband’s abuse. It would be nice if there were no toxic males out there, but there are. Some good ones, too, I hear, but it seems like the good guys are harder to find every day.”

  She whipped around a corner, dodging passersby and clinging to the right where she was less likely to cause a collision. “Remember KenziKlan, you have value. You have worth. No one has the right to abuse you, verbally or physically, or to tell lies about you. Use that phone in your pocket and take pictures. Make contemporaneous diary entries—real ones, not self-serving Gone Girl records. Talk to friends. If he hurts you, see a doctor immediately. And then leave him. I don’t care if you have children. That’s not an excuse for becoming a victim. Take the kids with you. If he’s abusing you now, he’ll be abusing them a heartbeat later. Pack your bags and get some help.”

  She was almost at the front door and streaming was forbidden inside the office. This was a partners edict and a great example of a bill of attainder, since it was a rule created to restrict one person—her. She wasn’t surprised when it passed. The law was absolutely horny for rules, and lawyers tended to be the same way.

  “That’s all for now, KenziKlan. I’ll keep you up-to-date on my next adventure. Hashtag KenziKlan. Hashtag RiveraLaw. Hashtag TimesUp. Hashtag GirlPower. Hashtag LoveIsAllWeNeed.”

  She glimpsed her reflection as she stood before the elevator doors. Not bad, if she did say so herself. She was trying to be less—what was her sister’s word?—flashy, but surely that didn’t mean she couldn’t care about her appearance. Just maybe not obsess on it. An Alexander McQueen double-breasted blazer paired with a matching pencil skirt was bound to improve the quality of her legal work, right?

  She arrived on the fourteenth floor, Ground Zero for Rivera & Perez, known around town as “Splitsville” because they’d made a fortune handling divorces. Her grandfather founded the firm and her father built it into an empire, the most successful Latinx-controlled firm in this part of the country. Her father also felt that appearances mattered, which is why the firm was bedecked with furnishings and decorations designed to impress, like the authentic mahogany furniture, some of it actual antiques, and the artwork showcased in backlit, enclosed display cases.

  Speaking of her father, there stood the man himself, Alejandro Rivera, at the receptionist’s desk. Just shooting the breeze with the woman he paid to look fabulous and greet clients with a high-toned British accent?

  “Morning, daughter,” he said, smiling.

  He was waiting for her. But it couldn’t be too bad, because if it was, he would’ve summoned her to his office. “Morning, Pops.”

  “Hear you scored a big victory in court today.”

  “Word travels fast.”

  “I’ve known Judge Barton for years. He was impressed enough to call me. Though he also warned that some of the other judges might not have been amused.”

  Barton cut her slack because he knew her daddy? That spoiled the whole thing. “You taught me to always know my judge. Most important thing for a trial lawyer to know.”

  “Indeed. Walk with me.”

  She noticed it was not a request. She took her position beside him as he slowly strolled. To her surprise, they headed not toward his office, but hers. He had recently resigned his position as managing partner to her younger and unworthy brother, Gabriel, but she knew he was still running everything. So what was the purpose of this little meet-and-greet?

  “Everything good with Candice?” Candice was the woman her father married a few years ago, after he divorced her mother.

  “Fine, fine. She’s busy with boards and committee meetings. I rarely even see her. But I think she’s happy.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Kenzi, I reviewed your billables last month. They’re down. Significantly.”

  Now we’re getting to it. “Yes. After the all-consuming murder trial, I thought I should spend some time with Hailee.” Surely he wouldn’t disapprove of her spending time with his granddaughter.

  “Wonderful girl.”

  “And I’ve been hanging out with Emma. I think we’re getting to be something close to friends.” Another obvious ploy. Emma was her younger sister. His youngest daughter. And he knew how reclusive and antisocial Emma could be.

  “If you can break Emma out of her shell, you will have accomplished something truly extraordinary.”

  “I knew you’d understand.”

  “But.” He turned abruptly and looked directly at her. “This is a business. We have bills to pay. We’re here to make a profit.”

  “I’m the highest billing attorney in this firm.”

  “Were.”

  “You’re hassling me because of one month? Isn’t this an overreaction?”

  “When my highest billing attorney starts to slip, I have to investigate. We don’t want Crozier catching up with us.” Lou Crozier was the head partner at Crozier & Crozier, their top competition. “Got to make sure we’re financially secure. It’s my job.”

  “I thought that was Gabe’s job now.”

  A thin smile crossed his face. “Gabriel is extremely busy. And delivering admonitions is not his strong suit. Especially not to his strong-willed big sister.”

  Which, in her mind, explained why the strong-willed big sister should’ve become managing partner. “It’s an aberration. Not a pattern.”

  “So you say. But I have to wonder. Especially after your recent foray into...” His lips actually curled. “Criminal law. A case that consumed enormous amounts of your time but generated little profit. It was almost as if you wrote off the majority of your time,” he added, giving her a pointed look. “And you pulled Emma away from her more profitable work as well.”

  “My client couldn’t—” She stopped herself. That was not what Daddy wanted to hear.

  “I need to know that the case in question was a one-time anomaly. And that in the future, you’ll focus on more profitable work.”

  Wasn’t she a little old to be hauled out to the woodshed? Still, he was being nice, at least by his standards, so she would try to do the same. “I’ll bring my hours back up, Pops. Promise.”

  “There’s still the matter of the deficient months...”

  “I’ll make it up, trust me.”

  He nodded and began walking again. “I knew I could count on you. Of all my children, you’re the one who’s most like me, you know?”

  And yet, she thought, smiling outwardly, I’m not the one you chose to be your successor. Not because I didn’t work hard, and not because I wasn’t a good lawyer.