The Devil's Advocate (6 page)

3

Boyle, Carlton, and Sessler had comfortable, tasteful offices back in Blithedale. Almost twenty years ago, Thomas Boyle had converted a small, two-story Cape, Cod house into his and Sanford's offices. Part of the charm of the office was its homey atmosphere.

One did feel relaxed there; perhaps too relaxed, Kevin thought. He had never had that reaction before. He had always appreciated the domestic touch in the curtains and drapes, the carpets and fixtures. He left one home every morning to go to another.

That was his original way of thinking.

But the moment he entered John Milton and Associates, all that changed. He had gotten off the elevator on the twenty-eighth floor, which had a spectacular view of downtown Manhattan and the East River. At the end of the hall were the oak double doors with scripted writing that proclaimed "John Milton and Associates, Attorneys." He entered and found himself in a plush reception area.

The wide open space, the long tan leather couch, leather settee, and leather chairs announced success. Over the couch was an enormous brightly colored abstract painting that looked like an original Kandinsky. This was the way a successful law office should look, he thought.

He closed the door behind him and stepped over the lush, velvety tan carpet, feeling as though he were walking over a layer of marshmallow. The sensation brought a smile to his face as he approached the receptionist, who sat behind a half-moon teak desk. She turned from her word processor to greet him, and he widened his smile instantly. Instead of being greeted by the homey, plain-faced Myra Brockport or the gray-haired, pale-skinned, and dull-eyed Mary Echert, who greeted clients back at Boyle, Carlton, and Sessler, Kevin was greeted by a scintillating dark brunette who could easily have been a contestant in a Miss America pageant.

She had straight coal-black hair that lay softly over her shoulders, the ends nearly touching her shoulder blades. She looked Italian, like Sophia Loren with her straight Roman nose and high cheekbones. Her dark eyes were almost luminous.

"Good afternoon," she said. "Mr. Taylor?"

"Yes. Nice office."

"Thank you. Mr. Scholefield's anxious to see you. I'll take you to him directly,"

she said and stood up. "Would you like something to drink . . . tea, coffee, a Perrier?"

"Perrier would be fine. Thank you." He started to follow her across the lobby toward the corridor at the rear.

"Twist of lime?" she asked, turning back to him.

"Yes, thank you."

He was mesmerized by the movement of her body as she led him down the corridor, stopping at a small kitchen area. She was at least five feet ten and wore a black knit skirt and white blouse with long sleeves. The skirt clung so tightly to her hips and buttocks, he could see the wrinkle as her muscles extended. It took his breath away. He laughed to himself, thinking how disapproving Boyle, Carlton, and Sessler would be.

She handed him a tumbler filled with the sparkling liquid on ice.

"Thank you."

The look in her eyes and the warmth in her smile sent a trickle of excitement down into his loins, making him blush.

"Right this way."

They passed one office, a conference room, and then another office before stopping at the door that had Paul Scholefield's nameplate. She knocked and opened it.

"Mr. Taylor, Mr. Scholefield."

"Thank you, Diane," Paul Scholefield said, coming around his desk to greet Kevin. She nodded and walked off, but Kevin was unable to pull his eyes from her for a moment. Scholefield waited with understanding. "Kevin, good to see you."

"Wonderful offices." Paul Scholefield's office was twice the size of Sanford Boyle's. It had a high-tech decor, the furniture glossy black leather, the bookshelves and desk glossy white. To the left of his desk were two large windows that looked out over the city to the East River. "What a view."

"Breathtaking, don't you think? All the offices have such views. Yours does, too."

"Oh?"

"Please, sit down. I've already told Mr. Milton you're here, and he wants to see you after we're through."

Kevin settled back in the black leather chair in front of Scholefield's desk.

"I'm glad you decided to give our offer serious consideration. We're literally inundated with new work," Paul Scholefield said, his eyes brightening. "So, did your present law firm offer you a partnership?"

"Not quite. They offered me an opportunity to find something else more suited to my nature," Kevin replied.

"What?" Paul held his smile.

"Apparently, the Lois Wilson case and the manner in which I conducted it has proven to be an embarrassment to them. Legal devices, technique, all of it is all right as long as it's done discreetly. You know, like manipulating some grandmother so they can get a piece of her estate or finding loopholes in the tax laws to fatten the pockets of their affluent clients," Kevin explained bitterly.

Paul shook his head and laughed. "Myopic. Quite provincial and narrow-minded.

It's why you don't belong there, Kevin. Mr. Milton's right about you," he added, his expression becoming serious. "You belong here ... with us."

"Mr. Milton said that?"

"Uh-huh. He was the one who spotted you first, and he's usually right when it comes to analyzing people. The man has remarkable insight."

"Have I met him?" Kevin asked, wondering how someone could be so sure of him without having met him.

"No, but he's always looking for bright, new prospects . . . likes to scout lawyers, go to hearings and trials like baseball scouts go to high school games. He saw you in action first and then he sent me. It's the way he went about hiring all of us. You'll meet everyone today—Dave Kotein, Ted McCarthy, and our secretaries. But let me show you your office first, and then we'll see Mr. Milton."

Kevin took a final sip of his Perrier and rose to follow him out the door and down the corridor. They stopped at an office door that had obviously just had its nameplate removed.

"Must have been something to tempt whoever it was away from this firm," Kevin commented.

Paul's eyes grew smaller as he nodded. "It was. A personal tragedy. He killed himself not long after his wife died in childbirth. His name was Richard Jaffee, and he was a brilliant attorney. Never lost a case while he was here."

"Oh, I didn't know."

"Mr. Milton is still quite upset about it, as you can imagine all of us are. But having you join us, Kevin," he added, putting his hand on Kevin's shoulder, "is going to cheer us up."

"Thank you," Kevin said. "But it sounds like I have big shoes to fill," he added.

"You can do it. If Mr. Milton thinks you can, you can," Paul said, nodding. Kevin almost laughed at the zealous expression of faith, but he could see Paul Scholefield was deadly serious.

Scholefield opened the door, and Kevin entered his prospective new office.

How many times during the past three years had he sat back in his closet of an office at Boyle, Carlton, and Sessler and dreamed of what it would be like to be a famous New York attorney with a plush office with a view.

Now before him was an L-shaped desk with a soft leather desk chair, a soft leather settee, and another leather chair at the front of the desk. The carpet was just as plush as the lobby's carpet, and the curtains were a bright beige. The walls were covered with light hickory paneling that gave the room a fresh, clean look.

"Everything looks brand new."

"Mr. Milton had the office redone. Hope you like it."

"Like it? I love it," Kevin said. Paul nodded. To Kevin the office was dazzling, from the sophisticated gold-plated phone system to the solid gold pen and pencil set. There were even silver picture frames waiting for his photos and frames on the walls await-ing Kevin's degrees and awards, the same number of frames he had hanging in his office back at Blithedale. What a coincidence, he thought. Good omen.

Kevin walked to the windows behind the desk. Just as Paul had said, there was the magnificent view of the city.

"Well?" Paul asked.

"Beautiful." He crossed to the bathroom and looked in on the shiny new fixtures and tiled floor and walls. There was even a shower stall. "I could move right in." Kevin inspected the books in the bookcase that took up most of the left wall. "I don't have to bring in a thing." Kevin laughed and looked around his office again. "This is ...

incredible."

"Mr. Milton will be glad to know you're happy with what he's done, Kevin." Paul looked at his watch. "It's time we met the man."

"Sure." He stopped to look back as they started out and shook his head. "It's exactly how I dreamed my office would be. It's as if..." He turned to the smiling Paul Scholefield. "As if he had gotten into my dreams."

After knocking, Paul opened the door and stepped back for him to enter first. Kevin had to admit he was nervous. Paul had built up John Milton so much in his mind, he had no idea what
to
expect.

The same carpet that covered the lobby area and flowed down the corridor spilled through the doorway of John Milton's office and covered his floor. At the center rear of the room was a dark mahogany desk and high-backed dark brown leather chair. There were two chairs set in front of the desk. Behind the desk were three large windows, nearly the height and width of the wall, providing an open, wide vista of the city and sky, an almost Godlike view.

At first Kevin was so taken with the radiance and brightness of the room that he did not see John Milton sitting in his chair. When Kevin stepped farther in and did see him, it was as if he had materialized out of the shadows.

"Welcome to John Milton and Associates, Kevin," he said. Kevin immediately heard a warmth in the man's mellow voice; it reminded him of the same open, friendly, and soothing tone Reverend Pendleton of the Blithedale Episcopalian Church had, a tone that put you quickly at ease. Kevin often tried to imitate it in court, secretly calling it his "Sunday voice."

John Milton looked like he was in his early sixties, with a curious combination of youthful and elderly traits. He had a full head of thick hair neatly trimmed and brushed, but it was all gray. As Paul closed the door behind them, Mr. Milton rose, his torso unfolding to a six-feet-two-inch frame and his smile bursting out of what at first looked to be a face locked in alabaster. He wore a dark gray silk suit with a ruby tie and ruby pocket handkerchief.

Kevin noted how his shoulders rose when he offered him his hand. He was in wonderful physical shape, which added to the strange but interesting mixture of youth and age. Moving closer, Kevin could see the crimson blush in his cheeks. He seized Kevin's hand firmly, as though he had waited ages to meet him.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Milton."

John Milton's eyes seemed to metamorphose while he and Kevin gazed at each other, changing from a dull, quiet brown to a shimmering rust. He had a straight, full nose with soft lines that at times made his face appear ageless. Even the lines around his eyes looked like someone had penciled them in only moments ago. His thin lips had an orange tone, and his jawbone was sharp, the skin tight, yet he had a fatherly look, a face full of wisdom.

"Paul has shown you what would be your office, I hope."

"Oh yes. It's fantastic. Love it."

"I'm glad, Kevin. Please, have a seat." He gestured toward the high-backed tan leather chair with smooth, dark mahogany arms. Hand-carved in them were figures from Greek mythology: satyrs, minotaurs. "Thank you, Paul," he added. Kevin looked back to see Paul Scholefield leaving.

John Milton returned to his own chair. Kevin noticed he had a firmness about him, something regal in the way he held his head and shoulders. He sat down like a monarch assuming his throne.

"As you know, we've been considering you for some time, Kevin. We would like you to start next week. Short notice, I know, but I already have a case earmarked for you," he added, tapping a thick folder to his right on the desk.

"Really?" He wanted to ask how he knew Kevin would accept a position here, but he thought that might seem impolite. "What's it about?"

"I'll give it to you in due time," John Milton said firmly. Kevin saw how easily Mr.

Milton moved from warm and friendly tones to determined and resolute ones. "First, let me explain my philosophy when it comes to my associates, who, as you will learn, are more than mere associates. In most ways they are my partners, but even more than that, they are my family. We are a true team here, devoted to each other in many more ways than our mere professional relationships. We care for each other and each other's family. No one works in a vacuum; home, life, all problems have an effect on your work. Understand?"

"Yes, I do," Kevin said and couldn't help wondering about the man he was replacing.

Was Mr. Milton leading up to that?

"I thought you would," John Milton said, sitting back until his face was covered by a shadow as a cloud slipped over the sun outside. "And for that reason, you wouldn't think it odd that I make suggestions, even try to help you in ways that are not, it would seem, directly related to your work here.

"For example," he continued, "it would surely help if you lived in the city. Now it just so happens I own a rather luxurious apartment complex in an ideal part of Manhattan, and I have an apartment available in it, one I would like you to take rent-free."

"Rent-free?"

"Exactly. That's how committed I am to my associates and their families. I have a way of writing it all off, too," he added. "Not that that's important. The important thing is to be sure you and your wife have a comfortable, enjoyable life while you're with us. I realize you and your wife have family ties to where you are presently located," he continued quickly, "but you won't be all that far away, and"—he leaned forward out of the shadow to smile—"you will have a new family here."