“Five minutes,” the guard said.
Jana felt better as the calming medicine worked its magic. She gripped the telephone and placed the receiver in front of her mouth, which was a chore since her hands were shackled together.
Who could she call? Her daughters? Both would be reeling from their father’s death. She couldn’t put this on them.
Who then? Jana couldn’t think of a single friend who’d be willing to lend her assistance.
If only her father were still alive. He’d know what to do. How many times had her dad bailed her out of jams? But he’d died three years ago, and her mother a year before that.
Jana needed a lawyer, but there were none in Guntersville she trusted.
Finally, closing her eyes and grinding her teeth together, she realized there was only one option. She couldn’t remember his cell phone number, but that didn’t matter. Everyone in the state of Alabama knew how to reach her brother.
Setting her jaw, Jana dialed the digits she’d seen on a thousand billboards.
1-800 GET RICH.
PART TWO
9
“Jason James Rich.”
The voice was a deep baritone. Distinguished, firm, but with the slightest twinge of condescension. It belonged to Winthrop Brooks, the chairperson of the Alabama State Bar Disciplinary Commission. Brooks wore a charcoal suit and a maroon tie, complementing the reading glasses that hung low on his nose. He was bald except for a couple of gray patches on the sides of his head. To Jason, he looked every bit the no-bullshit commercial litigator that he was.
Brooks sat in a burgundy leather chair in the middle of an elevated platform. A microphone had been placed in front of him, but it wasn’t turned on.
Jason stood and squinted up at the chairman. He’d had one case against Brooks that had settled for just north of a million dollars. That didn’t create a conflict of interest, but Jason doubted that it garnered him any favor with the man, whose client probably hadn’t been pleased at having to shell out seven figures. He glanced at the other three members of the commission. Seated to Brooks’s left: Mary Crosby, a forty-five-year-old real estate attorney from Dothan, and Gary Debro, a fifty-two-year-old insurance defense lawyer from Decatur. To the right: Josephine Scales, a young prosecutor for the Fayette County District Attorney’s office.
“Yes, sir,” Jason said. His voice felt dry, and he knew it sounded hoarse. He’d dressed in a navy suit with a light-blue tie. During his drive from the Perdido Addiction Center to Montgomery, he’d passed three billboards where he was wearing the exact same thing.
IN AN ACCIDENT? GET RICH.
INJURED IN A FALL? GET RICH.
HURT ON THE JOB? GET RICH.
Each advertisement had Jason’s goofy, smiling face. Normally, Jason might have chuckled at being in the same suit as in the ad; today, he felt nothing but a dull sense of numbness. Rehab had done that to him. At first, during the detoxification period, he’d been keenly aware of everything happening. Now, with only a week left of his mandatory three-month stay, he could barely feel anything at all. Almost as if he was a spectator to his shit show of a life.
Even today, “on the outside,” as a criminal might say, life seemed odd and disjointed. Though he’d been given his phone for the trip, he hadn’t even turned it on. In truth, he hadn’t wanted to use it. His partner was keeping him updated on his cases during her regular visits, and sadly, he could think of no one else he needed or wanted to call.
“Mr. Rich, we’ve reviewed the findings of the general counsel’s investigation and his recommendation,” Brooks continued, his tone stern. “However, before we make our decision whether to approve his proposal, we wanted to hear from you in person.”
Jason glanced to his left, where the only other person in the boardroom sat. Anthony “Tony” Dixon was the general counsel for the Alabama State Bar. Like Jason, Tony was thirty-six years old, and they’d been in the same law school class at Cumberland. They hadn’t been friends, nor had they run in the same social circles. However, Jason had always felt that Tony was a solid person and smart lawyer. He’d been fortunate that Tony was heading up the investigation.
“Mr. Rich, you understand that this is the second time that you’ve been investigated due to a disciplinary complaint.”
Jason managed a smirk.
“Something wrong, Mr. Rich?” said the chairman.
“That first complaint was dropped, and I wasn’t punished in any way.”
“You got into a fistfight with Nate Shuttle on the courthouse steps in Walker County,” Mary Crosby chimed in. She raised her eyebrows, but her voice carried no irritation. Perhaps amusement? Curiosity?