“That’s what Victor said.”

“The man knows his business.”

Rafferty pondered this. “Do we know why she got fired?”

“Not yet, but I can find out. My guess is she crossed someone she shouldn’t have. No one would get into it, but I could hear it in their voices. If you push her, she’ll push back – hard.”

“What about her family?”

“Middle-class background. Dad was a salesman, Mom was a legal secretary. Both of them came from nothing, although you couldn’t tell it by looking at Sara. They died years ago in a car wreck, but according to her old colleagues, it’s still a rough issue for her.”

“Good. That’s one way in. Any other relatives?”

“She has a grandfather and a husband.”

“Tell me about the husband.”

“His name is Jared Lynch. He’s from a wealthy suburb in Chicago, but worked hard to get where he is. Dad’s a retired stockbroker; Mom still plays housewife. He’s got two younger brothers, and they all live in Chicago. Financially, Sara and Jared have a small IRA set aside for them by Jared’s family, but in terms of available funds, they’re barely scraping it together. When Sara lost her job, the income loss hit them pretty hard. From what I can tell, they cashed in almost all of their savings in the past six months.”

“That’s what happens when they kick you out of a high-paying job,” Rafferty commented. “What does Jared do?”

“For the past six years, he’s been doing defense work at a law firm – big place called Wayne and Portnoy.”

“He’s a defense attorney?”

“Can you believe it? Two lawyers in one family. Shoot me now or forever hold your peace.”

“Actually, that’s good news.”

“How do you figure?”

“Let’s just say I’m starting to see some interesting possibilities.”

At their Upper West Side brownstone, a block from the Museum of Natural History, Sara ran up the stairs two at a time and unlocked the front door of their apartment. The living room was dark. “Damn,” she said. Jared wasn’t home yet. She flipped on the lights and hit the play button on the answering machine. There was one message. “Sara, it’s Tiffany. Are you there?” Sara listened to the voice of the young girl she mentored through the Big Sisters program. “Want to hear what it’d sound like if you were a rock star?” Tiffany asked. “Saaaaaara! Saaaaaara!” There was a short pause “Saaaaaara! Saaaaaara!” There was a longer pause. “You didn’t think I’d do it again, did you? Anyway, call me. Don’t forget we have plans Thursday night. Hi, Jared. Bye.”

Laughing at the message, Sara headed to the kitchen and started dinner. Their division of chores was simple: The first person home did the cooking, the second one home did the cleaning. Given a choice, Sara always preferred to clean and Jared favored cooking. It was something he had picked up from his father, who liked to experiment in the kitchen.

Sara and Jared’s one-bedroom apartment encompassed the second floor of the five-story brownstone. And while it had a separate dining room and a nice-sized bedroom, the largest room in the apartment was the living room. With its overstuffed slipcovered sofa and its wine-colored oversized armchair, it was the best place to relax and unwind.

Decorated in what Sara called a “funky heirloom” style, the apartment was a mixture of Sara’s informality and Jared’s love of collecting. During law school, Jared had spent his time hunting down lobby cards and rare movie posters. When he graduated, he moved on to actual movie props. And when they had paid back exactly half of Sara’s eighty-thousand-dollar law school loans, Jared celebrated by buying his first expensive collectible: one of Kirk Douglas’s shields from the film Spartacus, which was hung on the wall over the sofa. Since that time, he’d added a bag of corn nuts from Heathers, a salt-and-pepper-shaker set from Diner, an ornate scroll from A Man for All Seasons, and, the prize of his collection, the knife that Roman Polanski used to cut Jack Nicholson in Chinatown. Jared saw his collection as a way to preserve pop history, while Sara saw it as a way to keep Jared happy.

Sara, on the other hand, was kept happy by the six framed pictures on the right-hand wall. Over the past six years, on every wedding anniversary, Sara had drawn a portrait of Jared. Although never professionally trained, she had always loved to draw. She didn’t like to paint, she never sketched, and when she drew, it was never with pencil – only with ink. She didn’t need it to be perfect; what you saw was what you got.

Sara crushed garlic, chopped onions, sliced peppers, and cut up the other ingredients for a home-cooked tomato sauce. In truth, she was just as content eating sauce from a jar, but the hope that she was on the path to saving her job put her in the mood to surprise Jared with the real thing. Fifteen minutes later, Jared walked through the door. He took one look at Sara and smiled.

“Guess your day got a lot better,” Jared said.

“It was incredible,” Sara said, unable to contain her excitement as she ran to hug him. “I just started working on them, but they’re completely my own cases. My own facts, my own defendants, my own everything.”

“Wait a minute. There’s more than one?”

“I got five. The burglary, plus two shoplifters, a pickpocket, and a drug possession. The burglary’s the only one that’s really trial-worthy, but it doesn’t even matter. It’s all finally happening – just like you said.”

“You’re incredible, y’know that? You really are.”

“And how’d everything go with your negotiation? Did it all work out?”

“It was great,” Jared said, dropping his briefcase and loosening his tie. “Nothing to really talk about.”

Sara watched her husband carefully. She knew that tone in his voice. “You want to try that one again, handsome?”

Jared turned back toward his wife. He wanted to tell her about the negotiation and the scolding. But not today. Not when she was finally feeling good. He wasn’t going to ruin it for her. Eventually, he said, “It’s really nothing.”

“And you think I’m going to believe that?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would.”

“Well, I’m not. So why don’t you save us some time and tell me the truth.”

Jared slumped down on the sofa and rested his head against the oversized cushions. “There’s not much to tell. I spent the entire afternoon trying to save them from a risky trial and a ton of bad publicity. Then, to thank me for caving in and screwing up, Lubetsky screamed at me for a half hour, followed by Rose, and topped off by Thomas Wayne, big boss extraordinaire.”

“Did you say anything back?”

“They were right. What could I possibly say?”

“How about ‘Stop yelling at me, you fat, bloated weasels – I obviously tried my best’?”

“Call me insane, but I don’t think that’s the best reaction for the situation.”

“So, let me guess – instead, you reacted the way you always do. You stood there and-”

“I stood there and let them yell in my face,” Jared said as his shoulders sagged. “I thought that was the best way to calm them down.”

“Honey, even if they’re right, you can’t keep letting them talk to you like that. You’re still a human being. I know you hate confrontation, but you can’t always pick the path of least resistance.”

“It’s not that I hate confrontation-”

“It’s just that you love having things perfect and neat and clean,” Sara interrupted. “I know why you do it. And I love the fact that you do it – I wish I could be as self-controlled as you are. But when it comes to your bosses, you can’t always avoid fighting with everyone in authority.”

“Listen,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Can we stop talking about work? I’ve had enough tension for one day.”

“Good,” Sara said, “because it’s time to open your present.”

“You bought me a present?”

“Nothing extravagant – I just wanted to say I love you. Your help this morning meant more than you know.”