right up, Mom.”
She glanced down at her sweats, torn T-shirt and pink fuzzy slippers. Great. She’d have to face some snazzy lady from a big-time law firm in this getup. She plucked a rubber band from the little bowl with the paper clips. Least she could do was tie back her tangled hair.
Rotten luck.
Forget it. She had to put her appearance out of her mind. For all she knew, Penny Hennings could be a cosmetics saleswoman.
But what were the chances of that? Particularly at 9:00 a.m. on the morning an article about Brian ran?
“Emma?” her mother called.
“Coming.”
She straightened. If Penny Hennings was from Hennings and Solomon, Emma had to go into full sales mode and convince this woman that her firm should take Brian’s case. After eighteen months of studying overturned convictions and hounding lawyers, it was time for their odds to change. And Hennings and Solomon could make that happen.
Emma ditched her slippers at the base of the stairs and marched up. She looked like hell, but she’d dazzle this would-be-lawyer-slash-cosmetics-saleswoman with her powers of persuasion.
The basement door stood open and Mom’s voice carried from the living room. Emma closed her eyes. This could be it. After a long, streaming breath, she stepped out of the short hallway.
A minuscule woman—maybe late twenties—with shoulder-length blond hair sat on the sofa. The plaid, overstuffed chair tried to swallow her, but her red power suit refused to be smothered. No, that puppy screamed strength and defiance and promise. Could be a good sign.
Plus, to the woman’s credit, she kept her gaze on Emma’s face and not her attire. One cool cookie, this blonde.
Emma extended her hand to the now standing woman. “Hello. I’m Emma Sinclair.”
“Good morning. I’m Penny Hennings. I’m an attorney from Hennings and Solomon. I’m sorry to barge in, but I saw the story on your brother this morning.”
Emma glanced at her mother, took in her cloudy, drooping brown eyes and flat mouth. A heavy heart had stolen her mother’s joy. Ten years ago, at the age of forty, the woman had been widowed and learned that hope could be a fickle thing. Emma, though, couldn’t give in to that defeatist thinking. There was a reason she’d been left fatherless at sixteen and now, with her brother in prison, had assumed the role her father would want her to take. To watch over Mom and free Brian.
Some would say she didn’t deserve all this loss. Why not? It turned out their family had crummy luck. Her father’s sudden death from a brain aneurysm had left a void so deep she’d never really acknowledged it for fear that she’d be consumed by it and would cease experiencing the joy the world offered. Ignoring that vast hole inside her seemed easier.
Then Brian went to prison—more crummy luck—and the hole inside grew. The thing she held on to day after day, the thing that kept her focused and sane and standing, was the fight to free her brother.
Whatever it took, she’d find a way to put their family back together.
“Ms. Sinclair?”
Make this happen. “Forgive me. I’m...well, I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but you’re the first attorney to contact me in eighteen months and I’m really, really happy to see you.”
Penny offered a wide smile and instantly Emma’s pulse settled. “Please, have a seat. Would you like coffee?”
“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I spoke to my father—Gerald Hennings—on the way over. He indicated that you’d contacted him about this case some months back.”
Emma sat on the love seat and rested her hand over her mother’s. Maybe they’d finally get the break they deserved. “Yes. He was kind enough to review the case, but said there was nothing he could do.”
“At the time, that was true, but I’m intrigued by this video you’ve obtained. If the video is accurate, we might be able to prove that your brother’s constitutional rights were violated. Any information regarding witness testimony should have been turned over to the defense before trial.”
“It’s Giglio material, right?” Emma asked.
Penny cocked her head. “You’ve brushed up.”
“Yes. I’m also a first-year law student at Northwestern. I left a job at a public relations firm so I’d be available during the day to work on my brother’s case. With the hands-on experience, I figured I might as well go to law school. I waitress at night and work my classes in around everything else.”
“Wow. You’re good.”
Emma shrugged. “Not really. My brother is innocent and he’s slated to spend the next twenty-five years in prison. I can’t let that happen.”
Penny’s expression remained neutral, her lips free of any tightening or forced smiles. No pity. Good. They didn’t need pity. They needed a shrewd legal rainmaker.
“That’s why I’m here. I’d like to review the information you’ve collected and possibly take your case. Pro bono. I’m not going to lie: this will be tough. The victim’s father is a Chicago P.D. detective. The State’s Attorney will go to war with us to keep your brother in prison, but I won’t back down. If Brian’s rights were violated, I’ll prove it. Besides that, I’m hungry for a big case and I think yours might just be the one.”
Suddenly, Penny Hennings seemed young. Idealistic maybe. Not the battle-hardened defense attorney her father was. Did it matter? Her wanting to step out from under her father’s shadow and make a name for herself was a great motivator.
She’s a rainmaker, smart and determined.
Emma gestured down the hall to the basement door. “Would you like to see what I have on the case?”
Penny smiled. “You bet I would.”
* * *
ZAC PUSHED HIS ROLLING cart stuffed with case files from the courtroom to his fifth-floor office. Along the way he passed other prosecutors dragging their own heavy loads and their stone faces or smirking, sly grins told the tales of their wins and losses.
Zac’s day had consisted of jury selection for a murder trial he was scheduled to prosecute. The pool of candidates wasn’t ideal, but his evidence was strong and he’d parlay that into a win.
He nudged the cart through his doorway and turned back to the bull pen for Four O’clock Fun. On most days, prosecutors coming from court gathered to compare notes, discuss the personalities of judges and opposing lawyers, anything that might be good information for one of the other ASAs. Some days, Four O’clock Fun turned into a stream of stories that would scandalize the average person, but that prosecutors found humorous. For Zac, gallows humor was a form of self-protection. A way to keep his sanity in the face of the day-to-day evil he grappled with.
“Zac,” Stew Henry yelled, “Pierson got his butt kicked by Judge Alred today.”
“Seriously?”
Alred
