“And how did that make you feel?”
“Crazy,” Jason admitted. “And scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That she might tell my parents what I’d done.”
“What you had done?”
“Yes.”
Jason hadn’t liked being cross-examined. And even in the comfortable and confidential confines of the PAC, Jason’s heart rate sped up every time Jana’s name was mentioned. Sharing with Michal about his sister’s behavior was liberating. But it was also terrifying. Jason wondered what Jana would say if she found out what he’d told his therapist.
“You’re crazy, Jason. You’re a drunk. A druggie. A weak-ass loser who can’t handle his life.” That’s what she had told him when he had suggested that she might want to seek treatment for her drinking problem over three years ago. Or that she and Braxton should go to marital counseling. She insisted that he was the one with the problem. Not her. Him. He was the one whose marriage was in shambles, who needed to drink to get through the day.
“Take care of the log in your own eye, baby brother.”
She’d said it then, and it was no doubt what she would have told him if she could have been a fly on the wall during his therapy. The perpetual devil on his shoulder.
And now she needs my help . . .
The sound of a honking horn pulled Jason from his reverie, and he looked in the rearview mirror. A man in a pickup truck was giving him the middle finger. Jason was in the left lane and had slowed his speed to sixty-three, seven miles under the speed limit. There was an eighteen-wheeler in the right lane, and the person driving the vehicle behind Jason couldn’t get around.
He gave the man a thumbs-up, and the pissed-off gentleman laid on his horn again. Jason pressed his foot to the accelerator and moved his vehicle over into the right lane. As a parting shot, the pickup driver flipped him the bird again as he drove by. Jason waved. He saw a green sign indicating that Montgomery was ten miles away, and he needed to make a quick stop in the state capital.
The headquarters of the Alabama State Bar were located on Dexter Avenue in downtown Montgomery. In his first few years as an attorney, Jason had served on the executive committee of the Young Lawyers Section, which was a fun gig where he got to meet a lot of other attorneys and became friendly with the leadership of the bar.
But that chumminess had ended when he’d started his billboard campaign. There had, of course, been complaints at the use of his last name to insinuate that choosing him as an attorney would lead to big money.
IN A CAR ACCIDENT? GET RICH.
Jason’s point, however, was that he was simply suggesting that prospective clients contact him if they had a particular legal problem, and there was no prohibition in the rules of ethics against that. Besides, underneath the jingle—which always contained a question followed by the “GET RICH” answer—was the following verbiage, which brought home Jason’s point: “Call 1-800 GET RICH and let attorney Jason Rich and the Rich Law Firm help you.” And, of course, he also had the magic “no representation” language at the bottom of each billboard. The bar had reluctantly agreed that the billboards were within the rules but recommended that he change his jingle in light of the controversy.
Jason hadn’t budged. He had too much invested in his billboards and wasn’t about to change them unless the bar made him. This refusal had brought about resentment, which no doubt hurt his cause when complaints began to roll in regarding his erratic behavior. He’d narrowly avoided punishment for his fistfight with Nate Shuttle, but the chickens had come home to roost when he was accused of being impaired during the deposition of Eileen Frost.
After checking in at the front desk, Jason was brought into a large conference room. Photographs of prior presidents of the Alabama State Bar adorned the wall, but Jason paid them no mind. He just wanted to get this embarrassment over with, but, alas, a wait was in store.
After thirty full minutes, a woman and a man finally entered the room. The man Jason had met numerous times before. Edward Raleigh had been the executive director of the bar for almost Jason’s entire career as an attorney. Ted was an all-business administrator and a hell of a fundraiser. During Ted’s tenure, the annual meeting of the bar, which had alternated between the Grand Hotel in Point Clear and the Sandestin resort in Destin, Florida, had almost doubled in attendance and sponsorships. The director was not one for small talk and got straight to the point.
“I’d apologize for the delay, but you called a few hours ago, and Ashley and I had to move some meetings around.”