As she stepped into the room, Sara knew whom she was looking for. From a legal perspective, she realized that arraignments were a vital guarantor of freedom and fairness. But from a strategic perspective, she knew that arraignments played a completely different role, not the least of which was allowing the opposing attorneys to get their first look at each other. A strong defense attorney meant a nightmare for a prosecutor, while a weak one might mean an easy victory. Either way, like football coaches who spy on the following week’s opponents, the prosecutors of the DA’s office loved to know who they’d be facing. Sara was no exception.

“Any idea which one he is?” she asked Conrad as they took a seat in the first row of wooden benches.

Conrad stared at the dozen defense attorneys who were currently sitting, writing, or filing last-minute papers on the left side of the room. “We won’t know until they call him.”

“Oh, no,” Sara said.

“What’s wrong?”

Sara pointed to a tall blond man across the room. He wore a finely tailored suit and carried a black Gucci briefcase. “That’s Lawrence Lake, a partner at my old law firm.”

“I think he’s the one you’re going up against,” Guff said.

“How do you know?” Conrad asked.

“Are you kidding? I can smell the enemy the moment he enters the room. It’s part of my untamed, feral side.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Oh, I’m definitely crazy,” Guff said, squinting his eyes to look fierce. “Crazy like a fox.”

“Or crazy like a psychopath,” Conrad said. Turning to Sara, he asked, “Did you find out anything else about Kozlow?”

“Just what’s in his file. He’s been arrested twice before: once for first-degree assault, the other for first-degree murder. In the assault, he used a switchblade; in the murder, he shoved a screwdriver into someone’s throat.”

“Jesus,” Guff said. “Someone has trouble playing with others.”

“Not according to the jurors. He got off both times.”

“So he’s a good liar,” Conrad said. “But if I were you, I’d look at the facts of those cases. Maybe he’s got a thing for creative violence.”

“I’ll check them tomorrow,” Sara said.

“Now are you all set on the bail amount?” Sara nodded. “What’s your perfect number?” Conrad asked.

“I want it to be at least ten thousand. That’s high enough that he shouldn’t be able to afford it. But I’m asking for fifteen because I know that judges always lower it a bit.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry,” Conrad said. “When the judges rotate into night arraignments, they’re usually so pissed off about their jobs, they tend to slap the defendants around just for fun.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sara said, glancing at Lawrence Lake’s Gucci briefcase.

Fifteen minutes later, when the court clerk called the case of State of New York v. Anthony Kozlow, Sara saw Lawrence Lake rise and head toward the defense table.

“Damn,” she whispered under her breath.

“Don’t cave in,” Conrad said.

As Sara walked briskly to the prosecutor’s table, Anthony Kozlow was escorted into the courtroom by one of the court officers. He was wearing a ratty black leather jacket and looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. Sara couldn’t help but wonder how an angry little scrub like him could afford a player like Lake. Approaching the defense table, Kozlow shook Lake’s hand as if the two were old friends.

Staring at Kozlow, Sara felt her forehead break out in sweat. This wasn’t like her old cases at the firm. She wasn’t fighting some faceless corporate entity. She was fighting Tony Kozlow – a man standing only ten feet away. She had never met him, and she didn’t know him, but she was going to do everything in her power to keep him in jail.

Without looking up, the judge read from the complaint form that Sara had prepared. He explained that Kozlow was being charged with second-degree burglary, and he checked that an attorney for Kozlow was present. After reading the rest of the complaint to himself, the judge looked up at Sara. “Are you asking for bail?”

“We’re asking that bail be set at fifteen thousand dollars,” Sara explained. “The defendant has a long history of violent criminal activity, and-”

“Two arrests are hardly a long history,” Lake interrupted.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said. “I thought I was in the middle of saying something.”

“I understand the prosecutor’s point,” the judge said. “And I can see Mr. Kozlow’s record. Now, Mr. Lake, let’s hear the other side.”

Lake smiled smugly at Sara. “My client was arrested twice. That’s clearly not a long history. To keep it short: Mr. Kozlow has ties to this community, he’s lived here almost continuously throughout his entire life, and there isn’t a single conviction on his record. There’s absolutely no reason why bail needs to be that high.”

The judge paused for a moment, then announced, “The 180.80 date is Friday. I’m setting bail at ten thousand.”

Relieved, Sara assumed that even if Kozlow could afford Lake, it’d still take at least a few days to raise that kind of money.

Without blinking, however, Lake said, “Your Honor, my client would like to post bail.”

“Please see the clerk about that,” the judge said. He banged his gavel, and the clerk called the next case. In and out in less than five minutes.

Without saying a word, Sara turned around and walked straight out of the courtroom into the hallway. Guff and Conrad followed. “Okay, so he posted bail,” Conrad said. “What’s the crisis?”

“The crisis is Lawrence Lake. That guy’s not a dial-a-lawyer. It costs about five hundred bucks an hour to talk to him.”

“So Kozlow has some money stashed away,” Conrad said. “Happens all the time.”

“I don’t know,” Sara said, tempted to tell them about Victor. “I have a bad feeling about this. Kozlow doesn’t seem like a kingpin – so where does he get the money and influence to talk to someone like Lake?”

“I have no idea,” Conrad said, looking at his watch. “But it’s way past my bedtime, and we’re not solving this tonight. We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning.”

Standing in the middle of the hallway, Sara couldn’t let it go. “What about-”

“Go home and get it out of your mind,” Conrad said. “The workday is done.”

Before Sara could argue, Kozlow stepped out of the courtroom and brushed past her. “Sorry, Sara,” he whispered. “See you on the streets.”

“What’d you say?” Sara asked.

Without answering, Kozlow headed up the hallway.

Unwilling to run in the early morning rain, Jared got to work at eight o’clock and headed straight to the firm’s private gymnasium and basketball court, hoping that a good workout would relieve the stress caused by the previous day’s events. Located on the seventy-first floor, the private facility had been installed at the request of Thomas Wayne, whose love of basketball outweighed his partners’ hopes for an expanded library. Among the lawyers of Wayne & Portnoy, the private facility was affectionately known as “the highest court in the city,” and its three plate-glass walls provided a stunning view of downtown Manhattan.

During his half-hour run on the treadmill, Jared replayed yesterday’s conversations in his head. First Lubetsky’s, then Rose’s, then Wayne’s. When the odometer read three miles, he showered and went down to his office.

“Feeling better today?” Kathleen asked as Jared walked past her desk.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Yourself?”

“I’m great. I’m just worried about you.” Kathleen pulled a pencil from behind her ear and wagged it at her boss. “But if you want to put yourself in a better mood, why don’t you ask me what’s going on? It’ll be worth it.”

Jared crossed his arms. “Fine. What’s going on?”

“The usual,” she replied. “Lubetsky wants to see you, Rose wants to speak to you, and a brand-new client wants to hire you.”

“Someone wants to hire me?”