“Did you do that so you could look like you actually care about college arts?”

“No, we donated fifty thousand dollars to Duke’s dance program to look like we actually care about college arts. The brochure picture was personal, although it would’ve been even better if you wrote that essay we begged you to write. We could’ve put that next to the picture. ”

I felt a pang in my chest. “When does your flight leave, mother?”

“Excuse me?”

“When does your flight leave?” I repeated, my voice cracking. “I’m pretty sure it’s in three hours or less so you won’t have to spend a full day here, so you can go back and tell Dad that you tried to convince me to come home after you fulfilled your campaign work. I’m sure that’s still all that matters to you.”

She was silent.

“I left Durham because I’ll be living here for at least three years—which is the length of my contract with the company, where I’ll be pursuing my real dream. And I must say, it’s just a bonus that I won’t be anywhere near you.”

She gasped.

“Have a safe flight. Tell Dad I said hello.”

“You’re just going to leave me standing here?”

“You’ve done it to me my entire life.” I left the building. I was too angry, too hurt, to completely focus.

I sent Ashcroft an email—letting him know I was using a sick day, and headed for the street.

“Aubrey!” My mother called from behind, but I kept walking. “Aubrey, wait!”

She finally caught up to me and grabbed my arm. “I can miss my flight...”

“And why would you want to do that?”

“So I can spend time with my daughter before she forgets that I exist...”

I held back tears.

“I can stay here for a few days and we can catch up in between your dance schedule,” she said. “I’ll make your dad fly up too if that’s okay with you?”

“That would be perfectly fine...” I nodded, but then it hit me. “No campaign talk, though.”

“Done deal.”

“No talking about me going back to law school, either.”

“I can live with that, too.” She nodded.

“And no talking shit about ballet.”

She hesitated, but she nodded again. “Okay, fine.” She hugged me. “Can you hail us a cab so I can book a room at the Four Seasons?”

“Why? You can just stay at my place.”

“Oh, please.” She slid a pair of shades over her eyes. “I looked up what professional ballerinas make. I know what type of apartment you can afford in this city, and daughter or not, I refuse.”

I didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. I knew making up would be a long process, but I was willing to give it a try.

She walked over to a newspaper stand, and I held out my hand for a cab.

“Oh, The New York Times always picks the best cases to cover.” She flipped through the paper. “There’s one hell of a trial going on this week.”

“Criminal or corporate?” I asked as a taxi flew right past me.

“Both,” she said. “And I actually know this guy. Well, I know of him anyway...Absolutely incredible lawyer...”

“We’re never going to get a cab at this rate.” I shook my head at being snubbed again.

“I doubt he’ll ever get recognition for that government case...”

“What are you talking about?”

“Liam Henderson.” She held the paper in front of me, pointing to a picture-less article. “Remember? He’s on me and your dad’s list of lawyers who’ll never be given the credit they deserve because they went against the government. This guy was your favorite, I do believe.”

“Oh, yeah.” I remembered. “So, why is he in the paper now? Did he mess up because he didn’t receive his due fame? Is he in trouble?”

“No, looks like he’s just testifying in a case. Article claims he’s been living down in the South and even partnered at some firm, but that can’t be true. Any firm down there would be bragging if they had him, and I haven’t heard anything.”

“I’m sure they would.” I finally waved down a cab. “We can go now.”

“It’s quite weird though.” She tapped her lip. “In all of his career, I’ve never seen a picture of him—maybe one or two, but they were stock pictures from his college days. I’m sure he looks different now.”

“Mom,” I said, opening the car door. “The cab charges by the minute.”

“Now the article claims he’s been living in North Carolina under an assumed name for the past six years. But of course, they’re not revealing that name. They need to get better researchers, don’t you think? How could a lawyer of that status manage to change his name, switch states, and still practice the law?” She handed me the paper as she stepped into the cab. “He’d have to erase his entire identity and start all over. Who would do that?”

I gasped and flipped to the article as I sat in the backseat. I read it word for word, over and over, and everything around me became a blur. I could practically feel my jaw dropping as I flashed back to my first interview at GBH:

Miss Everhart, are there any lawyers that you wish to model your own career after?” Mr. Bach smiled at me.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “I’ve always admired the career of Liam Henderson.”

“Liam Henderson?” Andrew looked up at me with his eyebrow raised. “Who is that?”

Suppression of Evidence (n.):

The improper hiding of evidence by a prosecutor who is constitutionally required to reveal to the defense all evidence

Andrew

Former Partners to Finally Appear in Court Opposite Each Other:

Hart Case Continues This Week.

That’s what the headline in the judicial section of The New York Times read this morning. To those who knew nothing about the case, I was sure that it was simply another story to pass the time, another superficial scandal to devour with their morning breakfast.

But for me, it was the end of a six year chapter that had gone on for far too many pages. It was part of the reason why I left, part of the reason why after I testified in a few days, I would leave this city for the very last time.

I looked outside the window at the Waldorf Astoria’s restaurant, wondering how it could possibly be raining so heavily in the dead of winter.

“Mr. Hamilton?” A woman in a suit stepped next to my table.

“Yes?”

“I’m Vera Milton, the general manager,” she said. “You’ve had several calls from a Miss Ava Sanchez... She keeps telling us that it’s important and that she needs to speak with you. She’s on the line for you now...”

I sighed. “Could you patch her call to my room in two minutes please?”

“Certainly sir.”

I left the newspaper on the table and headed straight for the penthouse suite. As soon as I unlocked the door, the phone in the parlor room rang.

“Hello?” I answered.

“It’s me...” Ava said softly.