Despite my best efforts lately, it seems that life—laughing and all—can’t help but get in the way.
Unable to sleep at all last night, by five, I found my way to the gym and to the office before most people awoke. My body continuing to hum several hours later, I inhale the brown lava in front of me, reading the front page of the newspaper, a slow anger working its way under my skin as I stare at King & Sparrow’s sinking stock.
I start with the headline.
FAMILY MAN FINANCIER…OR CAREER CRIMINAL?
Former Manhattan businessman Chris Jackson is seemingly a mystery to all who may know him, an object of much debate amongst both friend and foe.
A self-made man with Midwestern roots, a wife and two children, Jackson seemed the perfect gentleman in both finance and family… Until federal prosecutors arrested him late last year, slapping the serial entrepreneur with multiple charges of fraud and securities law violations.
Jackson is also believed to have embezzled from business partner and foes alike, and reports say that various parties are set to come forward to not only testify against Jackson, but to take him to civil court, accusing him of more accounts of corporate theft…
I re-read the article. For the third damned time.
I can’t stop the thought that this firm—now my firm—King & Sparrow is being connected with the biggest cocksucker of the century, and as I scan the letter, inhaling the smoking cup of hell-hot coffee, I clutch the newspaper roughly between my hands, crushing it between my fingers right before a loud knock sounds at my office door, shattering my solitude.
Shit. I almost spit the java back out. My tongue half-torched by the baking-hot brew, I manage to call out despite the burning, my anger—like the scalding coffee—looking to land on the nearest object in my path. I call out.
“Come in!”
And the door swings open…revealing a ghost. I almost gape.
Jesse Somerset is the best trial lawyer in the damn country…and my best friend from college. The formerly rowdy boy from the Bronx stands in the doorway of my office in a fresh Tom Ford suit, shocking the hell out of me with his clean-cut hair and missing slouch.
He grins at me across the threshold, as if holding a secret he’s glad to have let go. He crosses his arms, as if impatient.
“D’ya miss me, Huncho?”
“Not as much as I missed the money you owe me.” I stand to my feet, smiling. “Get your ass over here, J. Set. And that’s an order.”
I’d heard a rumor, months before I’d taken over the firm, that my Harvard roommate was working for my overbearing father, but it seemed just that… A rumor. It was confirmed when I’d stepped in to my father’s position, but my ex-roommate had been working hard—out of a town on an important case. A tough street kid with stellar grades and a rude streak, Jesse Somerset was the friend I’d never expected, a former child gang member with a record and soft spot for beating up rich kids.
I was the trust fund fucker. And he was the boy without a chance.
On the very night of our Harvard graduation, he’d been the one who kept me from drowning in a Jack Daniels bottle; his words of encouragement a salve to my father’s scathing words after I walked away from everything I’d worked for.
My Juris Doctorate. My diploma.
A spot in the Sparrow legacy.
Hugging him now, I revel in the familiar camaraderie of the brother I never had. I step out of his embrace, slapping a hand on his hard shoulder, my face threatening to split in two from my smile.
I look into his green eyes, discovering laughter lurking behind them when he jabs at my shoulder with a quick punch.
“Huncho, where the hell have you been? I’d heard you’d run away to Hollywood to be a star.”
I snort on a small laugh. “The star shit’s a rumor, Jay. Nothing more. The Hollywood part? That’s true. Found a couple of businesses to invest in, a couple of movies to fund. Tried my hand at producing and discovered that I’m actually quite good. Go fucking figure that.”
Jesse shrugs, his green gaze twinkling. He grins slow and wide. “Have you ever not been good at anything you’ve put your mind to? Even Harvard. Before you stepped out.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You were the only bastard I knew with enough brains to party all night before a test and ace it. You could have sold your services.”
“I almost did.” I cross my arms, reeling back into my memories. “But I figured I was doing enough prohibited shit to get busted. Didn’t want to add too much weight to the stakes.”
“I don’t blame you. Especially with your father being a donor and all.”
I nod. “Wouldn’t want to smear the Sparrow name any more than I already had, right?
He smirks. “Exactly… Which is why I’m glad you’re here. You’ll help us do a lot of good…”
His eyes are hopeful. And determined. It makes my stomach sick.
I’d rather not tell the most honorable man at Harvard that I won’t stay past a month or two at the firm, but I don’t have it in me. The day has been a rollercoaster of a ride already, and as I motion to Jesse to head outside of the cramped quarters of my office, we head in sync towards the break room, my curiosity driving me to pepper my best employee with questions.
I start with the most obvious.
“You know I was shocked when I came into the firm and David told me that you work mostly pro-bono. I never thought my father would allow that.”
He sniffs. “I know. It seems impossible, doesn’t it? Most firms would have told me no.”
“My father would have added a fuck no for emphasis.” I glance over at Jesse. “Charity’s never really been his thing. In fact… it’s the opposite of his thing.”
Jesse’s dark brows raise. “Maybe once…but then again, he was the most supportive person on my side when I proposed it to the firm. Gave me his blessing and everything, even when David wanted to put a hard stop to all the free hours we were submitting to billing.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I stop in the wooden-floored hallway. “My dad was the one who okay’ed it?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” Jesse grins. “No one was more surprised than me.”
I keep walking, maintaining pace with Jesse. We amble into the break room without breaking stride. “Maybe Dear old dad thought he was doing you a favor. I mean, since Marilyn got you the job.”
Filling a cup with water from the cooler, Jesse frowns, spinning in his Ferragamo shoes towards me, his dark brows furrowed. With the same slanted stare that scared away Harvard yuppies, he lifts the plastic cup to his lips, taking a long sip. He seems to consider what he’s going to say before finally blurting out the last truth I would ever expect to come from his shiny white teeth.
He gazes blankly at me. “Heath…what makes you think Marilyn got me this job at King & Sparrow?”
I blink. “I… Well, I assumed my dad didn’t hire you. Since he only seems to give a damn about protecting blue-bloods like that fraud friend of his, Chris Jackson.”
“Huncho…” My old roomie drags out my nickname. “Your father was the one who hired me on the spot. Said he remembered me from Harvard.” He blinks. “Said he remembered me from you…and that that was enough.”