The boy looks up at her.
“I’m Sarah.” Keller smiles at him. “Your dad’s outside. Would you like to see him?”
The boy’s blank expression turns hopeful. He nods.
Keller looks at the two officers, who are conflicted now. In an overly pleasant voice, solely for Jimmy’s benefit, she says, “I think these men made a big mistake, and since they want to keep their jobs, they’re gonna take off those cuffs, if that’s okay with you?”
Jimmy nods again, avoiding eye contact.
Keller gives the officers a piercing gaze. They don’t question it. The burly one glares at Keller while his younger comrade unlocks the handcuffs.
Keller walks out of the house with Jimmy Butler.
She’ll be hearing about this from Hal. From Stan, even. But right now, she doesn’t care. This boy needs his father.
CHAPTER 15
CHRIS
Chris arrives at Clare’s apartment at the Ellington, a glitzy building in Midtown Manhattan close to her office. The place has a doorman, a marble lobby, and an expensive-looking vase of fresh flowers on an elegant table near the elevators. It’s a stark contrast to his shoebox in Elizabeth, New Jersey. He’d been bracing himself all week for the work party she’d coaxed him to attend. “All the junior associates are bringing plus-ones,” she’d pleaded.
Chris has no interest in an evening with the masters of the universe who ruled the halls of Cramer Moorhouse, one of New York’s most prestigious law firms. He imagines them gossiping about the mismatch of Clare （old money, Upper West Side, Mergers & Acquisitions shark-in-training） and Chris （no money, wrong side of the tracks in Linden, New Jersey, defender of street thugs）。
“There he is,” Clare says, greeting Chris at the door. She’s wearing a stylish blouse—somehow corporate yet sexy at the same time—and that familiar sparkle in her eyes. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him.
He knows he should appreciate this. She’s a beautiful, successful young woman who by all accounts adores him. But on days like today, which remind Chris of who he really is, her blind affection is somehow off-putting.
“I have a surprise for you,” Clare says. She gives a tiny clap of her hands, nearly vibrating with excitement.
“What’s the occasion?” he asks. “I’ve told you that you don’t have to—” But before he finishes the sentence, she’s skipped down the hall.
Chris tells himself to shake off the mood. She doesn’t deserve to have her night ruined by his gloom. He steps into the impressive living room. The apartment has an open floor plan. High ceilings. And the view. It sure beats the neon sign of the Chinese takeout place across from his place. Clare has already hinted that he should move in. That her dad, who owns the place, would be cool with it. Ever the optimist.
Clare’s back in the living room with a garment bag.
“What’s this?”
“Remember how I said my tailor could refurbish your suit?”
“Ye-es,” Chris says, cautiously.
“It turns out he couldn’t. But he was able to use it for your measurements,” she says in a singsong voice. She unzips the bag and displays a sharp navy suit. Chris examines the label inside the jacket. Brioni, which he’s never heard of but knows is expensive.
“You said you’d feel more confident for your trials if you had a nice suit.” She beams.
He doesn’t recall saying that—and he certainly can’t wear this suit to meet his clients at the dirty Union County jail. But those sparkling eyes … What kind of upbringing did you need to get that sparkle? Maybe if Ms. May and Clint had gotten to him sooner, he’d have that same glint.
He kisses her and tries to sound sufficiently enthusiastic. “This is too much. Thank you, Clare.”
“Maybe you can wear it tonight,” she says.
* * *
So he does. The last thing he wants is to embarrass her with her friends. She’s conveniently bought him expensive shirts, a belt, shoes, and even cuff links to go with the ensemble.
The soiree is at a partner’s apartment that makes Clare’s seem modest. At these functions, he always finds himself talking to the bartenders or women who carry around the trays of over-complicated hors d’oeuvres.
But tonight, he’s been cornered by M&A guys from Clare’s department. These types always are fascinated by public defenders like Chris. Occasionally it feels patronizing. But tonight, they seem genuinely curious.
It starts casually enough. Alpha small talk. Them gossiping about the party host’s bad Botox, which gives his face that look of perpetual surprise. Then there’s the colleague they call “Dunning Kruger,” a reference to an affliction that causes the least capable people to think they’re the smartest in the room. A few comments about the pretty bartender with the long legs. Then, inevitably, they turn to Chris’s job.