The city noises

Sleep came in restless fits while I listened to the city noises, traffic, sirens. A nightmare woke me before my alarm radio began playing “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurhythmics. Far from sweet, I’d dreamed Senator Peterson was abusing other women in his office. They were shouting at me from their skyrise offices as I looked up at them. Right before I awoke, the women began throwing things out the windows at me. They hated me for helping the Senator.

As the sky began to lighten, I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. 

After I showered, I chose a professional outfit that fit my mood: a simple black shift accented with a heavy silver chain and mid-heel pumps. I brushed and clipped my long brown hair into an updo. I didn’t wear much makeup, just a couple strokes of mascara added to my dark lashes and a tiny dab of expensive lip gloss. Too many years of fighting with my brothers and being a tomboy took the sweet little girl out of me. 

If my hunch were right, I’d meet Richard  Huen, Chicago’s most eligible bachelor, today. For some reason, the confidence needed for the meeting was difficult to conjure. When I was through primping, I stuck my tongue out at myself in the mirror just like my brothers and I used to do when we were kids. It helped. But I needed coffee.

In the kitchen, I boiled water and prepared the French press. Most of my kitchen supplies were still in boxes so only priority items sat on the counter. Not that I cooked much, but I did own the necessary essentials: a frying pan for eggs; a cookie sheet for frozen tater tots, pizza, or, occasionally, bacon; and a pot for everything else. Pasta was a staple in my diet because of the simplicity. Most importantly, the French press sat on the counter next to two coffee cups. One stained mug from Lake Powell and one stainless to-go cup for work. The rest were still in moving boxes.

In the refrigerator I looked for half-and-half and paused to take stock. Two bottles of vitamin water, an energy drink, and a baggie containing moldy cheese. Leftovers from . . . I didn’t remember . . . and one box of white wine, which was almost empty. No cream. I wrote a note on a nearby pad, “grocery store,” and started a list. While waiting for the water to boil, I peeled a spotty banana, then turned on the TV. 

Claire Russo, our local news anchor, talked animatedly about something. Over the sound of the whistling teapot, I watched without hearing the story. As I poured hot water over the grinds in my press, the name Leung Yang drew me toward the television. I turned it up.

“The right-hand woman to successful millionaire Richard  Mackenzie had been missing for almost two weeks before she was found dead in the early hours of Wednesday morning.” Photos of the very pretty Yang flashed on the screen. Dark hair and makeup so perfect that any female rock star might feel like she needed more concealer. 

“Evidence of foul play has investigators searching for a murderer. Yang appears to have been tortured and drugged prior to her death,” the news anchor said. “Investigators are following all leads including her famous employer.” 

Claire Russo added that Yang’s employer at PPS, Richard  Mackenzie, couldn’t be reached for comment. Had he reached out to me because he’d known? A shiver crawled up the backs of my arms and I rubbed them. 

In the next clip, Detective Jeff Lohmann of the Chicago Police Department stood at a podium to give a statement. Years ago, he and my dad had been partners, and he remained a close family friend. Now, he was chief homicide detective of the Chicago PD Violent Crimes Division.

“In Chicago, we often forget about the dead. Murders are too often dismissed and forgotten. Not today. We believe there’s more to Leung Yang’s death than meets the eye. Predators like Leung Yang’s murderer are our modern-day vampires. They are the stalkers and killers in the real world. Our team is investigating this murder with the best technology we have. We will find her killer.”

Claire Russo closed with a cryptic comment. “Vampires, eh? We all know there’s no such thing as vampires, right, Bill?” 

I turned the TV off and poured coffee into the silver travel cup. If Richard Mackenzie was a murderer, I wasn’t sure I would represent him. I anticipated telling him so when he called again.

It was predicted to be a warm, humid day again, but I knew it might be chilly in the office with the air-conditioning. I threw a black suit jacket on, collected my laptop case and bag containing several notebooks, one for each client, then left for work.

Riding the Robert Line to work allowed me time to check my emails and glance at my calendar. I had scheduled my day in half-hour increments around an important meeting with the partners. 

At eight o’clock, I walked into the firm. Perry’s phone rang as I passed her with a wave.

“Good morning, Thena Robert’s desk,” Perry answered and nodded a small hello at me. Then with eyes as big as saucers, she put her hand over the receiver and asked if I would take a call from Richard  Mackenzie’s assistant. 

“Yes,” I answered and rushed into my office. “Wil Robert, here.” 

“Ms. Robert,” a suBolman-sweet voice sang. “Mr. Mackenzie would like to meet with you at three o’clock today.” 

I looked at my calendar but knew that I’d be in the meeting with the partners. “I’m sorry, that’s not a good time for me, Miss—” 

“Mr. Mackenzie is a very busy man. Three o’clock is the only time he’s available, and he’s determined to fit you into his schedule. Today.”

“I’ll see if I can get out of another meeting. . . I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Where shall I tell Mr. Mackenzie that you’ll meet?” Her singsong tone belied an underlying need for order and control, which I recognized a mile away.

“Dorman, Wallace, and Edwards. Our office is on Madison Street. Please have him check with reception for the room number when he arrives.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Robert. I’ll let him know.” She hung up.

My chest tightened. I clamped my teeth together. Damn Mackenzie for interfering with my schedule! Maybe I can hold the posttrial debriefing earlier. 

Not likely. We had scheduled this meeting yesterday afternoon as a last-minute addition. We all had made concessions and adjustments to be there. I’d have to let Perry finish up for me, and that really wasn’t my style. She was competent, but I preferred to handle meetings with the partners myself. 

A ray of light shone through my need to control the situation as I realized that Mr. Dorman would be thrilled to hear I was meeting the most powerful CEO in Chicago. I quickly called him and told him about it. He asked me to come to his office immediately.

Dorman was ecstatic. “Wil, you get this contract. A billionaire is always more important than an elected official. Mackenzie’s going to be the most important client you’ve ever had.” He’d seen the news story about Yang and spent twenty minutes going over all the ways Dorman, Wallace, and Edwards could help both J. T. Mackenzie and his company, PPS. 

“He called you personally, Wil. So now it’s up to you. I’m counting on you to bring Mackenzie in. Do you understand? Whatever it takes.” Dorman’s enthusiastic support added pressure that lay like a wet rug on my shoulders.

Back in my office, I sat down facing my immaculate desk and sleeping computer screen. At my feet, my laptop bag fell over. As I reached to set it right, a corner of the pamphlet from the Australian diving cliffs poked out of the side pocket. I slid the pamphlet out with two fingers, then placed it on the desk in front of me, touching it delicately as if it held a secret terror. 

The image on the cover showed the intimidating cliffs in Kimberley, Australia, and a man in swim trunks soaring out over the water dozens of feet below. The photo captured him in midair, where he seemed to float weightlessly. I knew that feeling; it was like flying. I wanted to be him. I’d done it many times before in Croatia, Nevada, Arizona, Italy, and Mexico. Now I was ready to escape again. I gazed at the photos, longing to be there, and turned the page over. On the back of the pamphlet I read: 

Please be aware that cliff jumping is a high-risk sport that can lead to injury or death. Always use judgment. All jumps and entry areas should be adequately assessed for safety and overall suitability.

A small knock at my door interrupted my reverie. “Come in,” I said.

Perry pushed the door open halfway and poked her round face through. The front portion of her recent haircut, a short, trendy asymmetrical style, hung over one eye. “Was that really—?” 

“Yes, Perry. It was Richard Mackenzie’s executive assistant,” I said.

Her eyes lit up as she smiled. “Oh my God! Chicago’s most eligible bachelor called you?”

Her giddiness was contagious. I smiled and asked her to come in and close the door. “I’m meeting with him this afternoon.” 

Perry clapped her hands together in front of her heart. “I saw the news this morning. Is it because of his personal assistant? Do they think he killed her?”

I slid the cliff-diving pamphlet into a side drawer and out of her sight. “Too soon to tell,” I answered, though it had occurred to me. “He’s coming here at three.” I explained. “Our meeting with the partners starts at two-thirty, and I know we won’t be through by then. So here’s what I’ll need you to do.” I spread the paperwork from the previous trial over the desk in front of me. 

Perry sat in the chair across the desk and lifted her tablet, ready to take notes.

At three o’clock, I closed the door on the debriefing room, reluctantly leaving Perry in charge. I collected my things and hurried down the hallway to the elevator. My heart raced a little as I thought ahead to the meeting. A client like Mr. Mackenzie could be the steppingstone for elevating my career to the next phase. Perhaps with this experience under my belt, I could begin to practice law on my own. If, in fact, he did have something to do with Leung Yang’s death then it would be the trial of the decade. 

I wanted to give a good first impression but knew I was already late. I hated to be late. It was unprofessional of me and not the way I wanted to begin an attorney-client relationship. On the sixth floor, I turned the corner and saw two large men—they looked like football players—in black suits standing on either side of the meeting room door. 

“Ms. Robert.” It wasn’t a question. The men wore communication devices in their ears. I assumed they wore pistols in shoulder holsters under their jackets. They looked like Secret Service for POTUS. 

“Yes,” I said. 

“Mr. Mackenzie is expecting you.” 

One of them opened the door for me. Seated at the far end of the conference room at the head of the long table, Mr. Mackenzie pushed back his chair and stood as I approached.

“Ms. Robert.” 

“I’m sorry I’m late, I was in another meeting.” I masked embarrassment by standing a little taller.

“Please sit down.” He pulled out the chair next to his and then we both sat at the table. In person, he looked younger. He wore black tailored slacks and a white shirt unbuttoned at the top with no tie. 

I adjusted my skirt and said, “I won’t delay you further, let’s get right to business. Why did you call?” I set my note pad down and reached for the pen holder in the center of the table. I drew out one of a dozen black ball points labeled with the firm’s logo.

“An employee of my company has been murdered.” Mackenzie’s flat tone was casual, as if he were telling me that Leung Yang had gotten a haircut, or her nails done. “It’s become clear that I’m a person of interest in the case.” 

The true color of his eyes was light steely blue, the color of the sky after a storm. I found myself drawn into them for some reason, and when he suddenly made eye contact, it put me off guard. My eyelids fluttered of their own will. I dropped my gaze to my tablet and the words I’d written, Person of interest. I said, “I saw the news this morning, and I assumed that was the case. How can I help you, Mr. Mackenzie?” 

“Leung was my assistant . . . and more. It’s understandable that I’m suspected in her murder, but I would never have killed her. I’m not a murderer. I’m proactively seeking representation in case someone is framing me.”

“But you’re not a suspect.”

“Technically, no. But I’ve met with the police investigators, and their line of questioning leads me to believe they’re suspicious. I have enemies, Ms. Robert. Some—I do not doubt—are capable of murder.”

That explained the bodyguards. “Were you and your assistant close?”

“Not as close as you might think. We had a professional relationship.” 

I recalled that Mackenzie had hired her on the spot. These days a job like hers wouldn’t come without an extensive resume. Either he saw something in her, or he knew what she was capable of. I wrote this on my notepad. 

He said, “I saw what you did for the Senator; you are skilled in the courtroom, Ms. Robert. Are you available?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m currently available,” I blurted out before realizing that, though inadvertent, his question had a double meaning. 

He, too, must have noticed the double entendre, and his mouth twitched just slightly. 

“In the professional sense,” I added with a coy grin.

“In the professional sense,” he reiterated with the hint of a smile on his perfect mouth. He checked the time on his Rolex. “Thank you, Ms. Robert. I’ll be in touch.” When he stood to leave, he reached across the table to shake my hand. 

Is he leaving? Already?

My intentions and plans for this meeting had vanished. I stood and extended my arm to return the gesture. “Mr. Mackenzie. I had wished to discuss the nature of our contract and get a better sense of what you need.” Indeed, I wanted to make assessments about him and determine his nature. “I was under the impression that this was my interview.”

“On the contrary, it was mine. Please write up an engagement contract for me to review.”

“Mr. Mackenzie, I haven’t decided if I’ll represent you.”

“Trust me, you do want to be my lawyer. My assistant will contact you regarding our next meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, Ms. Robert, I have a conference call to Japan in a few minutes.”

He took my hand and held it firmly while staring directly into my eyes. We’d never met before, but I felt suddenly that we had. The intense expression on his face made me feel that he knew me. Really knew me. There was something so familiar, yet I couldn’t place him. It was unlike me to be flustered by anyone, but my internal response to his stare threw me. I pulled my hand away. 

“Good day,” he said. 

I held his gaze for a moment longer, then looked back down at the table. “Good day, Mr. Mackenzie.”

I caught a glimpse of Mackenzie rubbing his fingers together, as if feeling silk, then he turned to go. The men flanking the door followed him down the hall, and then they were gone. 

What just happened? 

The question remained: why would he—or anyone—act preemptively and hire a criminal lawyer before charges were made? 

Part of me rationalized. Richard  Mackenzie was a captain of industry with a multimillion-dollar business. He was probably worth more money than I could begin to fathom. So right. He would be interviewing me. And yet he did not. And now, the businesswoman in me felt completely disrespected by him, violated even, in some sexual way. Considering the #metoo movement, I knew a caressing handshake couldn’t qualify as sexual harassment. Yet, he was so—. 

For five years I’d worked at Dorman, Wallace, and Edwards. In all that time, it hadn’t occurred to me that my job would take a personal toll or that it would affect my relationship status. And even though in five years I hadn’t had a single date, fling, or one-night stand, the impulse to quit my job had begun when I started working for Peterson. Today, though, quitting was the last thing on my mind. 

As I sat back down in my chair and took a deep breath, Johnson Dorman appeared in the doorway. “Thought I’d just pop in to meet—Where is he? I thought you were meeting with the CEO. Is he late?” 

“He’s already gone,” I admitted.

Johnson looked a bit panicked. “I don’t understand, Wil. Did you get the client?”

I gave a tight, uncertain smile. “I believe so.”