Page 71 of Bombshell

The two stare at each other across the conference table, locked in a battle of wills. She says “no” at the exact moment he says “yes.”

They both start to speak at the same time, and when it becomes clear neither will cede the floor to the other, they ratchet up in volume and intensity until they are both on their feet.

“You’re talking about fabricating information, Welles.”

“That’s your characterization, not mine.”

When I hold my hand up to silence them, they can’t stop before offering one final parting shot each.

“You do not fuck with family court!” she barks.

“You just have to be willing to go the extra mile for your clients,” he says, turning to look at me with a silent question.

Which one of them is going to do that?

“Ms. Laird?” I say, turning to look at her. “Would you excuse us?”

If being a lawyer doesn’t work out for her, Cameron should consider acting. None of this is news to her, but she played it all perfectly. It takes my words a second to settle in, then she gives Welles a look of such perfect malice I almost believe she’s mad to see me get sucked in by her colleague.

“That’ll be all, Cam,” Welles says, a nakedly smug look of victory on his weasel-face.

She storms out without even a glance in my direction, leaving me alone with Welles.

“There was a lot happening all at once,” I say conspiratorially to him. “I take it that someone needs to report an incident to Family Services?”

“Yes, it’s really just as simple as that. The law allows for semi-anonymous reporting in child welfare matters. Teachers and other people who work with kids, they’re mandatory reporters. If they see kids being mistreated, they have to file a report. But what happens if a plumber or a subordinate employee sees their employer hitting their kids? The law protects them if they want to come forward. They can claim they are effectively ‘in a compromised situation,’ and their report will be investigated despite being anonymous. It’s hardly ever used.”

Welles looks proud of himself, and in spite of myself, I’m tempted to use what he just told me. I already discussed what direction I’d take with Cameron on the phone when I set this up, but it doesn’t hurt to know there’s a way to use the system if a real emergency with Ellie presented itself. I’m not in a position to draw unwanted scrutiny on my past or current business.

“But wouldn’t the MacLaines know someone who works at Windfall reported them? They could get...punitive...with staff,” I suggest. It’s important I give Welles an out. One last chance to prove he’s not scraping the bottom of the legal barrel for whatever scum he can use in his practice.

“Why would I worry about them? You are my client. The only thing is, the report needs details and plausibility. I’ll write it myself. I’ve been to Windfall a few times,” he says, puffing out his skinny chest. It’s the detail he thinks will close the deal but he’s opened a door he can’t close.

“Wait, do you represent the MacLaines in other matters?” I stand up from the table and button my suit jacket. “How can I trust you to represent my interests? This meeting is ov—”

“No, no, Mr. Ford. Nothing like that.” He shows me his palms, held at shoulder height. He’s beginning to realize his mistake, which makes him desperate to prevent my walking out the door. “I’ve never officially represented the MacLaines. They had a problem with their daughter a few years back. Gold-digging boyfriend. I had just started work as counsel for Dean Cheswyk at Valmont U. We did a deal. Furnish evidence that would make their problem go away.”

“And you found that evidence?” I repeat like I’m turning this over in my head. The truth is I want to hear him say it. I want him to admit what he did.

“Yeah. You know, get the kid kicked out of school for stuff he actually did without dragging the daughter into it too much.” His eyes search my face without a trace of recognition, but his apprehension has already made his palms sweaty, because he rubs them absentmindedly on his trousers, leaving a dark blot. “Look, you need me. The MacLaines? They’re going to fight, and they’re going to fight dirty. This is going to be huge. We’ll get the media on our side. You do a few interviews. We get that report made. Their own company will do the rest. I mean, have you seen the stories about them covering up MacLaine’s wife’s death? They can’t handle more bad press, and we’ll pile it on. They probably even have some old staff who’d be happy to burn them. You know what they say about revenge.”

“Yeah, I do,” I say quietly. “I know a lot about revenge.”

He pauses, momentarily confused. “We can get started right away.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Welles. You misunderstand why I can’t work with you,” I say, watching his face melt into a sort of sad mess. This man doesn’t hear ‘no’ enough. “I’m not the type of man who gets off when the shit circus comes to town. I just want my kid back. Preferably without traumatizing her for life. Nothing else matters. Good day.”

He splutters a final, feeble attempt to salvage his new client. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you want to pursue the matter we discussed, give me a call. You’ll have a couple months to consider it. Family court moves slowly!”

I stomp out of the office in a huff, and Welles, reluctant to be seen as the cause of this, or to apologize in front of his colleagues, disappears into a restroom.

I’m not surprised when Cameron slides into the elevator just as the doors are starting to close.

“How badly did he fuck himself?” she asks, unable to keep a smile off her face.

“Pretty badly.” I pull the tape recorder out of the breast pocket of my suit. And click it off. “He explicitly advised me to fabricate evidence. Then he offered to do it for me. And then he admitted to taking money under the table in a scheme involving Angus MacLaine and one of the deans at the University.”

“He’ll end up disbarred,” she says, her eyes closing as a deep, warm smile spreads on her face. “Serves him right.”