“Well, sorry if I’m not in the mood.”

“It has nothing to do with being in the mood,” she said. “If you want to be miserable, go right ahead. But don’t take it out on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, leaning back in his chair. “I really am. I’m just scared about this whole thing.”

“And you deserve to be. I’d want to kick the crap out of him.”

“I have no idea what to do.”

“Well, I hate to be the one to say this, but there’s not a lot you can do about it now. We have to get the Russell decision done, and I still haven’t seen your first draft.”

“Can’t you do it?”

“Oh, don’t even think that,” Lisa warned. “I’m your friend, and I’m here whenever you want to talk, but don’t think you’re getting out of your work just so you can sulk all day.”

“C’mon. I’d do it for you.”

“Are you crazy? While you’re writing Russell and Pacheco, I’m editing Oshinsky, and Lowell Corp., and Pacific Royal, and Schopf. And we haven’t even started working on Grinnell, which is scheduled to be announced at the end of the month.”

“So what are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is, don’t leave work and run down to the Washington Herald to confront your roommate, which I know you’ve been planning to do since you saw the damn article.”

Ben fought a smile. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Oh, really?”

“I was going to wait until lunch to go down there.”

At eleven-thirty, Ben’s phone rang. “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers,” he said, picking up the receiver.

“Ben Addison? This is the Supreme Court security office. We need to speak to you. We believe you may be leaking information to the public.”

“E-excuse me?” Ben said, panicking.

“Just kidding!” Ober said. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t do that! You scared the shit out of me.”

“Oh, relax,” Ober said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“What do you want?”

“Eric called me. He said he’d like to talk to you tonight.”

“What time?”

“Eight, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll see him then.”

“Who was it?” Lisa asked, noticing the irritated look on Ben’s face.

“Just Ober.”

A half hour later, the phone rang again. “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers,” Ben said.

“Is this Ben Addison?” a voice asked.

“Yes,” Ben said, annoyed to be pulled away from the Russell opinion.

“Hi, Mr. Addison. My name is Diana Martin, and I’m with The Washington Post. I was wondering if you had any comment on the story in this morning’s Herald.”

“Listen, if you work with Ober, tell him to bite me.”

“Mr. Addison, I think you have me confused with someone else. As I said, I’m with The Washington Post. I’d be happy to fax over my press credentials. In fact, if you’d like, perhaps we could meet for lunch and talk this over.”

Sitting up straight in his chair, Ben knocked over the coffee on his desk. “How can I help you today, Ms. Martin?” he asked as Lisa pulled a pile of napkins from her left-hand drawer.

“Well, as I said, I was wondering if you had any comment on the story in today’s Herald.”

As Ben lifted piles of paper from his desk, Lisa dabbed away the coffee. “I’m sorry,” Ben said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“In this morning’s Washington Herald, there was a story about a possible leaking of information during the recent CMI decision. I was wondering if you had anything you’d like to say about it. If you’d like, I’ll keep your identity secret. You’ll be an unidentified source.”

Ben opened his top drawer and pulled out a small stack of papers. Searching through the stack and trying to avoid bumping into Lisa, Ben quickly found what he was looking for. Reading verbatim from the sheet titled “Response to Press,” he said, “I appreciate your concern on this matter, but as a clerk of the Supreme Court of the United States, I am not permitted to reveal any information to the press.”

“So are you saying that there is an investigation taking place, but that you just can’t talk about it?”

“Ms. Martin, I have nothing further to say,” Ben said, throwing aside the sheet. “Thanks for your time.” As Ben hung up the phone, Lisa finished soaking up the coffee. “Thanks for the help,” he said, wiping the remaining liquid from under his pencil sharpener.

“No problem,” Lisa said. She walked back to her desk. “Was that really the press?”

“I don’t believe it,” Ben said. “It was The Washington Post.”

“What’d they say?”

“They asked me about the story. I almost shit in my pants.”

“It sounded like you were fine,” Lisa said. “You did the right thing. That’s what the press sheet was designed for.”

“When I got this in August, I never thought I’d have to use it,” Ben said, putting the sheet back in his top drawer. “Do you think they know?”

“No. They probably called everyone. I’m sure they know that the clerks are the easiest ones to get information from.”

“I really think they know. They have to know.”

“They don’t know a thing,” she said. “In fact, I’m surprised we haven’t gotten more calls from the press. I’d heard that we’d be called before every big decision.”

“They haven’t called you,” Ben said. “Explain that, Miss Optimis-” Lisa’s phone rang.

Lisa smiled. “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers.” As Ben listened, she said, “Yeah, I really can’t talk now. Can I call you back later? Yeah, now’s a bad time.”

“Who was that?” Ben asked as Lisa hung up the phone.

“Just an old friend from law school.” Walking over to Ben’s desk, she said, “Listen, don’t let this get you down. I’m sure they’re just going through their list. I’ll get called.”

“Whatever,” Ben said. “It’s no big deal. I mean, they’re the press. They’re supposed to find these things out. It’s their job to wreck my life.”

“Ben, your life is far from wrecked.”

“Listen, I don’t need the pep talk. I know what I got into, and I’ll figure a way out of it.”

“It’s not a matter of figuring a way out of it. You’re not in trouble. No one knows it’s you. Besides, worse comes to worst, you can always wait tables.”

“That’s very funny,” Ben said, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a stupid lunch meeting with the firm I worked at two summers ago.”

“A recruitment lunch?”

“I imagine.”

“Why are you going?” Lisa asked. “If you want to be a prosecutor, you don’t have to go to a firm. You should just go to the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

“I wish. But the U.S. Attorney’s Office won’t help me pay off all the debt I have from law school.”

“You still have law school debt? I thought your parents were wealthy executives?”

“My mom’s an executive, but my family doesn’t have that kind of money. Anyway, I wanted to pay my own way.”

“You did?”

“It’s my responsibility. I’m the one who went to law school, I’m the one who gets the benefit. Why should they pay the bill?”

“So how much debt do you have?”

“From law school, about ninety-two thousand dollars.” Lisa’s mouth fell open. “And that’s not including the eight thousand that I paid off in the past two years.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of financial aid?”

“Absolutely,” Ben said. “That’s how I got the loans.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t let your parents-”

“It’s a long story,” Ben said. “In the end, they couldn’t afford to do much, and I wanted to make it easier on them. That’s it.” Looking down at his watch, he said, “I really have to go. I’m late.”

Ben jumped into a cab outside the courthouse and headed to Gray’s, home of Washington’s premier power lunches. Although many of the city’s most important meetings were still held in dimly lit restaurants that smelled of cigar smoke, brandy, and barely cooked steak, Gray’s attracted executives and congressional leaders who actually wanted to be seen at lunch. Of course, it still had four private rooms in the back for patrons who wanted to be more discreet. With oversized glass tables balanced on geometrical steel bases, and chairs draped with white slipcovers, the main dining room was arranged in a large circle, to facilitate celebrity spotting. The restaurant was decorated in stark black and white, giving it a minimalist look that was almost too ultramodern for downtown D.C.