It was ten o’clock before the gathering dispersed. Patrick loitered against the grainy brick wall of the cellar as he watched Liam shake hands and swap stories with people from other states. He needed to speak with the welder privately. Tomorrow’s hearing was going to be the most important case of his career. Having a little wind in his sails from a sympathetic audience would help, but he couldn’t let it get out of hand.

Finally, the last of the workers began funneling upstairs, and Patrick followed closely behind Liam. As others dispersed on the darkened street, Patrick pulled Liam aside.

“I’m not going to let you turn tomorrow’s hearing into a protest against U.S. Steel.”

Liam’s face tightened a little. “It already is,” he said. “Two hundred people didn’t leave their homes and families to help my uncle sell more books.”

Patrick stepped in front of Liam, forcing the other man to stop walking. “You need your uncle Mick to sell those books. If this case dies tomorrow, the books get destroyed in a bonfire. Right now, no one outside of New York City even knows about this book. Go ahead and whip up a little steam among your followers, but let me steer it in the courtroom. If we win, copies of that book will make people all over the country think twice about letting the Blackstones get a controlling interest over the steel industry.”

A gleam of respect lit Liam’s pale green eyes, and he offered a calloused hand. “We have a deal.”

Patrick shook Liam’s hand and breathed a sigh of relief, because Liam Malone was not a man he wanted as an enemy.

9

Patrick arrived early at the courthouse to review his notes ahead of the most important hearing of his career. Judge Rothwell hadn’t arrived yet, and the jury box was empty, for this wasn’t a trial. It was only a hearing to see if the court would halt distribution of a book before publication, and Judge Rothwell would decide the verdict on his own.

The Blackstones’ lawyer sat at the plaintiff’s table, but Patrick was too nervous to sit. He paced before the gallery, eyeing the spectators who filled the seats, most of whom were Mick’s crowd. They wore homespun clothes and carried lunch pails. They were better behaved than last night, but he could sense their excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

There were only a few Blackstones here. Gwen Kellerman sat beside an elderly man who was probably Frederick Blackstone. Patrick couldn’t meet her eyes because he was about to defend Mick’s slurs about her family, and the prospect gave him no joy. He was grateful for his spiffy new suit because there were a lot of eyes on him today, and he adjusted his freshly starched cuffs while pacing before a row of seats reserved for the journalists.