“One more time,” Joey said. “Describe the video.”

Since it was seared into Kyle’s memory, he had no trouble replaying it — exact times, camera location, angle, the people involved, the arrival of the police, and the presence of Elaine Keenan. Joey absorbed it again without a word.

“Okay, Kyle,” he said finally. “You’ve lived with this since February. You’ve had plenty of time to think. Right now I ain’t thinking real clear. Tell me what we should do.”

“The big decision has been made. I’m officially employed by Scully & Pershing, and at some point I’ll get around to the dirty work. But there are two things I want to know. The first concerns Elaine. I know where she is, but I’d like to know who she is now. Is she capable of dragging this up again, or has she moved on? Does she have a life, or is she living in the past? According to Bennie, she has a lawyer and she still wants justice. Maybe so, maybe not, but I’d like to know the truth.”

“Why?”

“Because Bennie is a liar by trade. If she’s still angry, or if she’s dreaming of squeezing money out of us, especially Baxter, it’s important to know. It could impact what I do at the law firm.”

“Where is she?”

“She lives in Scranton, but that’s all I know. For about two thousand bucks we can hire a private investigator to do a background on her. I’ll pay it, but I can’t arrange it myself, because they’re watching and listening.”

“So you want me to do it?”

“Yes. But you have to be careful. No phones or e-mails. There’s a reputable investigator in Pittsburgh, not too far from your office. I give you the cash, you give it to him, he does the snooping, gives us the report, and nobody will know about it.”

“Then what?”

“I want to know who Bennie is and who he works for.”

“Good luck.”

“It’s a long shot. He might work for an opposing law firm, or a client involved in a big lawsuit, or he might work for some intelligence operation, domestic or foreign. If I’m being forced to spy, I would like to know who I’m spying for.”

“That’s too dangerous.”

“It’s very dangerous, but it can be done.”

“How?”

“I haven’t got that far yet.”

“Great. And I’m guessing that I’ll be involved in this plan that has yet to be created.”

“I need help, Joey. There’s no one else.”

“I got a better idea. Why don’t you just go to the FBI and tell them everything? Tell them this creep is trying to blackmail you into stealing secrets from your law firm?”

“Oh, I’ve thought of that, believe me. I’ve spent hours upon hours walking through that scenario, but it’s a bad idea. There’s no doubt whatsoever that Bennie will use the video. He’ll send a copy to the Pittsburgh police, a copy to Elaine, and a copy to her lawyer with clear instructions on how to use it to inflict as much misery as possible on me, you, Alan, and especially Baxter. He’ll put it on the Internet. The video will become a big part of our lives. You want Blair to know about it?”

“No.”

“This guy is ruthless, Joey. He’s a professional, a corporate spy with an unlimited budget and plenty of manpower to do whatever he wants. He would watch us burn and have a good laugh, probably from someplace where the FBI can’t touch him.”

“A real prince. You’d better leave him alone.”

“I’m not doing anything stupid. Look, Joey, there’s an even chance that I can survive this. I’ll do the dirty work for a few years, and when I’m no longer useful, Bennie will disappear. By then, I’ve violated every ethic in the book, and I’ve broken laws too numerous to mention, but I haven’t been caught.”

“That sounds awful.”

And indeed it did. Kyle listened to his own words and was hit again by the folly of it all, and by the bleakness of his future.

They talked for two hours, until the sky began to change, and never once thought about returning to the tent. It was cooler on the ridge.

The old Joey would have jumped in with both feet, looking for a fight. This later version was much more cautious. He had a wedding to think about, a future with Blair. They had already bought a new condo together, and Joey, without the slightest trace of embarrassment, claimed that he was enjoying the decorating. Joey Bernardo, decorating?

Breakfast was scrambled eggs with hot sauce and bacon with onions. Clem cooked over the fire while his crew broke camp and loaded the raft. By eight o’clock, they were off, floating leisurely on the New River, headed nowhere in particular.

After a month in the city, Kyle savored the fresh air and open spaces. He envied Clem, a good ole boy from the mountains who earned little and needed even less. Clem had worked “these rivers” for twenty years and loved every minute of it. Such an uncomplicated life. Kyle would trade with him in an instant.

The thought of returning to New York made him ill. It was July 6. The bar exam was in three weeks. Scully & Pershing was two months away.

Tuesday morning, September 2, 8:00 sharp. A hundred and three nicely dressed and quite apprehensive new associates congregated on the law firm’s forty-fourth-floor mezzanine for coffee and juice. After signing in and receiving name tags, they chatted nervously, introduced themselves, and looked for friendly faces. At 8:15 they began to file into the large meeting room, and on the way in each was handed a four-inch-thick notebook with the bold Scully & Pershing Gothic logo printed on the front. It was filled with the usual information — a history of the firm, a directory, pages and pages on firm policies, health insurance forms, and so on. In the “Diversity” section there was a breakdown of their class: Male, 71, Female, 32; Caucasian, 75, African-American, 13, Hispanic, 7, Asian, 5, Other, 3; Protestant, 58, Catholic, 22, Jewish, 9, Muslim, 2, Undeclared, 12. Each member had a small black-and-white photo with a one-paragraph bio. The Ivy League dominated, but there was fair representation from other top schools such as NYU, Georgetown, Stanford, Michigan, Texas, Chicago, North Carolina, Virginia, and Duke. There was no one from a second-tier school.

Kyle sat with a group from Yale and played with the numbers. Fourteen from Harvard, and though they were indistinguishable at the moment, it would not be long before the rest of the class knew who they were. Five from Yale. None from Princeton because Princeton had never established a law school. Nine from Columbia.

With 103 associates at a starting salary of $200,000, there was now more than $20 million in fresh legal talent sitting in the room. A lot of money, but over the next twelve months each would bill at least two thousand hours at $300-$400 an hour. The hours would vary, but it was safe to say that the rookie class would generate at least $75 million for the firm in the coming year. These numbers were not in the binder, but the math was easy.

Other numbers were missing, too. Of the 103, 15 percent would leave after the second year. Only 10 percent would survive and make partner in seven or eight years. The attrition was brutal, but Scully & Pershing did not care. There was an endless supply of disposable labor, even that of the Harvard and Yale variety.

At 8:30, several older men entered the room and sat in chairs along the narrow stage. The managing partner, Howard Meezer, stepped to the podium and began an elaborate welcoming speech, one he had no doubt memorized from years of use. After telling them how carefully they’d been chosen, he spent a few minutes touting the greatness of the firm. Then he outlined the rest of the week. The next two days would be spent in that room listening to various talks about all aspects of their new careers and life at good old Scully & Pershing. On Wednesday, they would spend a full day in computer and technology training. On Thursday, they would break down into smaller groups and begin brief orientations in specialized fields. The tedium was rapidly approaching.