Matthew Brooks and Vanessa Lyons are a perfect love match, both attorneys at a powerful New York City law firm. But there’s a hitch: Matt just made partner, and Vanessa is coming up for partner next year. And Vanessa’s husband, the profligate Bradley Lyons, has his suspicions.
Vanessa is assigned to the biggest case at the firm, the one that will determine her future. Unfortunately, Matt has been working the case for years, leaving him no choice but to supervise his lover in violation of firm policy. When Vanessa is denied her partnership, despite assurances to the contrary, she can only assume that her affair with Matt was the reason.
Then, on a crowded Manhattan street corner, a knife flashes in the midday sun, leaving behind a scene of horror. But with so many having been betrayed, will the murderer be brought to justice? A gripping criminal trial will leave readers unsure of who, if anyone, is telling the truth, all culminating in a jaw-dropping reveal.
From the bestselling author of Dead Certain and The Perfect Marriage comes a smart and twisty legal thriller about love, life, and truth, that careens to a shocking conclusion you won’t soon forget. I’m thrilled to share a sneak peek!
Direct Examination of Vanessa Lyons
“Don’t worry. We’ll start slowly, and I’ll be very gentle,” my lawyer whispered in my ear. When I looked in his face, J.R. offered me a wink, just in case I hadn’t realized that his double entendre was intentional.
With those words of encouragement, I made the fifteen-foot trek from counsel table to the witness box. After I took my position, the court officer directed me to raise my right hand and asked me if I swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
“I do,” I said, loud and clear.
I doubt very much that I’ll be true to my oath, however. Not because I intend to lie. Rather, I no longer believe there is such a thing as truth between lovers. More than that, both my professional experience and the past year have taught me that there is even less honesty between litigants.
When lovers become litigants, fact and fiction dissolve into nothing more than points of view.
“Tell us a little about your educational background, Mrs. Lyons.”
In court, my lawyer called me Mrs. Lyons, to emphasize my marital status. He went by his initials, J.R. It’s a nickname he picked up when someone decided he was the spitting image of J.R. Ewing.
I’ve never seen the resemblance, but he is tall and thin with close-cropped black hair.
“I graduated from Princeton University and Yale Law School.”
“What did you do after graduation from Yale Law School?”
“I clerked for Judge Jodi Siskind of the federal district court in New York.”
“What employment, if any, did you obtain after your clerkship?”
“I joined Rawls Ryan & Gold.”
“Is that a law firm?”
“It is.”
“When did you join Rawls Ryan & Gold?”
My nerves are such that I can’t remember whether it was 2008 or 2009, and for some reason being right on this point was important to me. I did what J.R had instructed me not to—I thought aloud on the witness stand.
“I left about a year ago and was there for almost eight years, so I began in . . . 2008.”
J.R. smiled at me, a look that said, It’s okay. Not to worry about my slipup. I was still doing great.
Sometimes I wonder if lawyers who represent women suing men for sexual harassment are trained to recognize transference, the way therapists are. I suspect they’re not, or at least J.R. missed those sessions. By now, he’s seen me bare, such that there is nothing he doesn’t know about me. Things that I had only previously confided with one other person—the man whom I’m now suing. He and my ex share another commonality: they both told me that my sins were justified by my circumstances.
“What position did you hold at Rawls Ryan?”
“I was an associate.”
“Were you elected to the Rawls Ryan partnership, Mrs. Lyons?”
“No.”
“Was that a surprise to you?”
“A shock is more like it.”
“Why were you shocked not to make partner?”
“Because I was told by the head of my department, Richard Lowell, that I was a lock to make it only two months before I didn’t.”
“Do you know why—”
An objection was lodged by the other side. The judge, a seventy-year-old man who looked like he woke up every day with a pounding headache, said, “Sustained.”
J.R. nodded, accepting that he’d have to try it a different way. “Did anything happen between the day that the head of your department, Richard Lowell, told you that you were a lock to make partner and the day you did not make it that you believed impacted your candidacy?”
J.R. and I had practiced my testimony at length. Through countless dinners and late night sessions, we would go through the Q&A, considering each word as if it held Talmudic importance.
“Don’t call him by name—he’s always to be referred to as your boss,” J.R. had said. “Don’t ever say sleeping with, which conjures a romantic image of cuddling in bed. Not intercourse either, which sounds like a medical term. And for the love of God, never, ever refer to it as making love.
It’s always having sex. And most important: he’s having sex with you. You’re never, ever having sex with him.”
I had taken his words to heart, which is why I answered J.R.’s question by saying, “The firm found out that my boss was having sex with me.”
“Please identify your boss.”
I pointed at him, like he was a criminal. “Matthew Brooks.”
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