“No,” she agreed, actually preferring to think he had no life there.

“Nina, you would love it out here,” he said, changing the subject. “Talk about being in the thick of it! Guess who I ran into in an elevator of an office building on K Street. Ralph Nader. Almost knocked him down. And then I saw Henry Kissinger in a corner grocery store in Georgetown one day. It’s so different from California. The history here-well, it’s out walking around the town, buying Twinkies.”

“Wow,” said Nina. “Sounds like you are enjoying yourself.”

He assured her he was not, that he missed her and all the other mountain folk, keeping it light, asking after Bob, and Andrea and Matt’s family. They talked for a while, catching up. Then Nina asked the question uppermost in her mind. “When can you come back?”

“Not until late January. I’m stuck here over Christmas,” he said.

“Oh, no,” said Nina. “You can take a few days, can’t you? I thought we might sneak in some skiing over the holidays. I don’t have much time, but I thought maybe we could swing a weekend up at the lodge at Squaw Valley.”

“There’s the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“Wrap yourself up in a pretty bow, put yourself on a plane, and appear on my doorstep.”

“You want me to come to Washington?”

“ ’Want’ is weak. I long for it. I desire it.”

“Paul, I’m busy, too. Even though Bob and I will celebrate Christmas over at Matt’s, I still have to buy presents, decorate the tree, do the whole number. I just can’t take any time away.”

“If that’s the way you want it,” said Paul, sounding pissed.

“That’s just the way it is,” she said, “same for me as it is for you.”

Eventually, he cheered up. In the end, he agreed to call the minute he had some time to help with the Markov case.

He left her with the suggestion that he couldn’t wait to show her something new he had thought up, something involving the four tall bedposts of her new pine bed.

The holidays came and went in a blur of green and red and family visits. Bob seemed happy with the new software she’d scrimped and saved to buy him and did not ask again about seeing his father. She knew he hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t want to hurt her.

In order to keep Winston informed about developments in the case, and therefore involved, Nina continued to send him copies of all the written battles and arguments. He called regularly with encouraging words and some excellent strategic advice, but he always seemed too tied up to come up to Tahoe. In this way, without it ever being plainly expressed, she learned that famous trial lawyers don’t sully their hands with the dirty little processes of pretrial discovery.

Genevieve stayed in Tahoe long enough to observe Nina a few times and to attend a short civil trial in another matter in which Riesner was the plaintiff’s attorney to, as she put it, “search for the soft underbelly.” Before she left, she and Nina set up a conference call with Winston, who agreed with Genevieve that Riesner would appeal to underdeveloped personalities who didn’t like to make their own decisions, and stronger conservative types looking to harden their positions.

They followed up with a discussion of Mike’s potential witnesses. Nina told them that, aside from Mike, his girlfriend would pose the biggest threat to them at trial if she could shake off her credibility issues with the jury. Rachel Pembroke had a long history at Markov Enterprises, a responsible position there and a personal view of the Markov relationship that would undoubtedly bolster Mike’s position.

Then at Genevieve’s suggestion, they brainstormed what she called the “mantra” for their case.

“Let’s get it all down to five words or less,” she insisted. “Look for an inspiration as we keep draggin’ our nets through the facts.”

“We’ll know it when we see it,” Nina said, “as Justice Potter Stewart said.”

“ ’It’s trophy-wife time,’ “ Winston said.

“Ooh, that’s good,” said Genevieve.

“She made him rich, then he dumped her,” Nina said.

“Too long,” said Genevieve. “We need something catchy like ’Where’s the beef?’ Or like Paula Jones and the President’s ’distinguishing marks.’ That was the mantra for that case.”

Winston laughed.

“We sound so cynical.” Nina soft-balled the criticism by including herself as a target. “There are important questions in this case. Things like, what is a marriage? What actually is a family? You know?”

“I like it,” Winston said, rolling happily over her objection with his enthusiasm. “ ’What is a family?’ Only it doesn’t cover the business aspect.”

They ended up with something Lindy had told Nina: the business was their child. That summed up Lindy’s position. Nina liked it because it seemed to reach for a deeper truth, an emotional truth she hoped a jury would embrace.

Outside, the snow deepened along the roads and in the woods. The landscape turned from dusty olive, tan, and blue to blinding white and blue, while Squaw Valley, Heavenly, Sierra Ski Ranch, and the other resorts hustled to get the maximum number of lifts operating. The town filled up again after its autumn lull. The winter season had begun.

Depositions began on the first Tuesday in January. Nina beat Sandy to the office and spent an hour going over notes before she arrived.

At ten o’clock, the parties assembled in Nina’s cramped conference room. After one memorable pitched battle the Hearing Examiner had decreed that Mike Markov would have the honor of being deposed first. Special rules had been devised to limit the number of hours per day, and Nina would have only two days with him. He sat across from her now.

After commenting on the lamentably disheveled state of Nina’s conference room and the generally inelegant surroundings, Riesner was suspiciously calm and quiet. He had the chair on the left. At the end of the table the stenographic reporter, Madeleine Smith, tried to lighten things up by chatting about the fantastic weather. Wearing beige pants tucked into boots and a knit sweater that covered her almost to the knees, Lindy fidgeted, appearing uncomfortable. In a week, it would be her turn.

“Swear the witness.” Mike raised his right hand and the reporter made him promise to tell it like it was. He wore a tweed sports coat over an open-throated golf shirt. His thin black hair was brushed neatly back, and his soft suntanned face shone slightly from soap and water. He had an odd expression on his face. Nina couldn’t quite identify it. Shame? Guilt?

Her goal for his deposition was quite simple. She would be trying to scare up anything she could use against him. She would listen for inconsistencies and she would gather details in enough bulk to trip him up during the trial.

From three feet away, he didn’t look like the evil despot Nina had tried to make him in her mind; but Riesner did. He wore the Stanford ring, his personal fetish, on the manicured hand resting on top of the pile of papers they would be going through. His lips curled, but she couldn’t say they formed a smile.

Nina placed her new leather attaché, a gift from her dad, directly in front of her, making sure Riesner noticed, feeling rather petty. When he had entered her offices for the first time months ago, she felt he had seen at a glance exactly what she was, a shoestring practitioner with shallow pockets. She couldn’t compete at this level, but by God, she would show off what she had.

“Okay,” she said. “Mr. Markov. On November first you were served with Requests for Production of Documents numbered one through thirty-five. It has been subsequently ordered that you bring all documents in response to this deposition at this time.”

“He has complied with the Requests except as modified in subsequent hearings,” Riesner said. “Here are the responses, numbered from one to thirty-five.”