Sara’s phone started ringing.

“I’d say right about now,” Guff said, folding his arms across his chest with a grin.

“This is Sara,” she said as she picked up the receiver.

“That’s not how you answer the phone,” a voice said. “What’s your job now?”

“Who’s this?” Sara asked.

“This is Conrad Moore. Guff said you needed some help. Now what’s your job here?”

“I’m a DA,” Sara stammered.

“You’re not a DA,” Conrad said, his tone stern. “On TV, everyone’s a DA. In the movies, everyone’s a DA. In real life, though, there’s only one DA: Arthur Monaghan. Our boss. And in real life, you’re an assistant district attorney. An ADA. So when you answer the phone, you tell whoever’s calling who they’re dealing with. Understand?”

Sara heard the phone click as Conrad hung up. Five seconds later, her phone rang again. Hesitantly, she picked it up. “Assistant district attorney’s office. This is Sara,” she answered.

“No!” Conrad shouted. “This is their first impression of you. You want them to think they’ve reached the receptionist? What’s your last name, Sara?”

“Tate.”

“Then that’s all you give them. In this office, we deal with criminals. And unlike the law firm you used to work at, we don’t want more clients – we want less. So we don’t need to be nice. We want to be mean. We want people to be scared when they commit a crime. So don’t get buddy-buddy with them. From now on, you’re ADA Tate. That’s all.” Again, Conrad hung up.

Five seconds later, Sara’s phone rang. Picking it up, she screamed, “ADA Tate! Now who the fuck is this?”

“That’s good,” Conrad said. “That’s the intimidation we’re looking for.”

“I’m glad. Now am I ever going to meet you face-to-face, or are we going to talk on the phone all day?”

“Come over right now,” Conrad said, his voice warming up. “I’m at the end of the hall on your right. Room 755.”

Hanging up the phone, Sara turned to Guff and took a deep breath. “We’re in. Want to come?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting all day for this,” Guff said. “So what’d you think?”

“He’s certainly aggressive,” Sara said as she stepped into the hallway. “I just hope he can get us out of this mess.”

Victor walked briskly up Centre Street, anxious to get back to the office. The afternoon’s events had taken up more time than he would’ve hoped, and he still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Rafferty. But as he was crossing the street in front of the old Federal Courthouse, his cellular phone rang. Unlisted with the DA’s office, the number was Victor’s private line and was to be used only in emergencies. He flipped open the phone and answered, “Who’s this?”

“Who’s this?” Kozlow asked, mimicking Victor’s deep voice. “How you doing, Vic? Long time, no slam your face in the bars.”

Victor stopped a step short of the curb. “How are you calling me?”

“Everyone gets a phone call, asshole. Even I know that. And if Mr. Rafferty makes a quick donation, I get unlimited access – know what I’m saying?”

“Why’d he give you this number?”

“He’s not happy with you, Vic. Things aren’t going as planned.”

Victor looked around at the pedestrians near the courthouse. No one was close enough to hear. “So why doesn’t he call me?”

“He doesn’t care about speaking to you. He just wants to know what we should do.”

“Not ‘we,’” Victor said, barely hiding his anger. “I’m done. You guys are on your own.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Actually, it is. I came in as a favor to our mutual friend, and now I’m stepping out.”

“But you can still take the case.”

“I told you, I’m done. My things-to-do list is full enough – I don’t need to add jeopardizing my career to it. Understand what I’m saying, you little psychopath?”

There was a cold silence on the other end of the line. “Just tell me one last thing,” Kozlow muttered. “What’s our best option now?”

“That’s easy,” Victor said. “He has to make sure you’re found innocent – if you’re found guilty, your boss loses. So if I were him, I’d find out all I could about the new ADA who has the case. She’s the one you have to beat.”

“Her name?”

“Sara,” Victor said. “Sara Tate.”

STANDING OUTSIDE OF CONRAD’S OFFICE, SARA READ the two quotations that decorated his closed door: “Crimine ab uno disce omnes – From a single crime know the nation” – Virgil; and “Fame is something which must be won; honor is something which must not be lost” – Arthur Schopenhauer.

Sara looked at Guff and raised her eyebrows. “What did you call him? Intense?”

Guff grinned and knocked on the frosted glass. “Come in,” a voice growled from behind the door. They entered.

Conrad was standing at his desk, sorting through papers. He was shorter than Sara had imagined, a man of average height, with a compact but powerful build. With jet-black hair and penetrating brown eyes, he looked as intimidating as he sounded. But a warm, gracious smile offset the visual threat.

“Conrad, this is Sara Tate.”

Sara reached out to shake his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Please, both of you, have a seat,” Conrad said, sinking into his own chair.

“Sara, this is every criminal’s recurring nightmare.”

“So I hear,” Sara said. “Guff tells me you have quite the workload.”

“I don’t complain about it, and I don’t apologize for it,” Conrad said, leaning back. “When it comes to the criminal justice system, America may be in love with high-priced defense attorneys, but as far as I’m concerned, only one side isn’t going to hell.”

“And that’s us?” Sara offered.

“Of course it’s us. Every time we win a case, we’re taking a criminal off the street. It sounds corny, but that means we’re personally making things safer for you and for the rest of the people in this city. That’s the only reason to do it.” Folding his hands behind his head, Conrad added, “So tell me, Sara, why’d you leave law firm life? You must’ve given up a six-figure salary to come here.”

“Who cares about my salary? I thought you were going to help me work on my case.”

“I will,” Conrad said. “After you answer the question. Now why’d you leave law firm life?”

“Well, let me put it this way: money – great; work – terrible. In my six years there, I participated in only two trials. The rest of my time was spent in the library, doing discovery and drafting motions.”

“So you just got sick of it and decided to come on over to the good guys?”

“Not exactly. I wasn’t thrilled with firm life, but I was going to be up for partner in the next year or two. And since that meant my investment in misery was about to pay off, I figured I’d stick around. Anyway, to make an immensely pathetic and long story short, I went for my biannual review, and they told me that I wasn’t on the partner track. According to them, I didn’t have what it took to make it in their firm.”

“But you weren’t fired for that.”

“No. I was fired when…” Sara paused. “How did you know I was fired?”

“This is my ninth year in this office,” Conrad said pointedly. “I have friends at every firm in this city – including yours.”

“You checked up on me?”

“Look, Guff asked me to help you out. For some reason he likes you. But if I’m going to teach someone the ropes, you better believe I want to know what they’re made of first.”

“Then why’d you ask me a question you knew the answer to?”

“To see if you’d lie,” Conrad said flatly. “But I still want to know why you got fired.”

“If you know so many people, how come you don’t know the answer?” Sara asked.

Conrad smiled. “They said you liked to fight.”

“Oh, she likes to fight,” Guff said.

“And to answer your question,” Conrad added, “maybe I want to hear your side of the story.”