Lauren didn’t even look at it when we met, although she might have glanced at it before my interview. Then again, maybe she couldn’t have cared less about where I went to college or law school, or what I wrote my law review article about. Certainly, she already knew that I’d spent the last eighteen years in General Crimes.

My boss in General Crimes was Eugene Stickleman, who everyone in the group referred to as “Stick-Up-His-Ass Man.” He was the kind of person who never smiled and had no family—or interests—as far as I could tell. He lived alone in a garden-level studio apartment in a building owned by this old lady he referred to as Mrs. Golitto. All I knew about Mrs. Golitto was that she owned lots of cats. Stickleman was forever complaining because the cats used his patio as a litter box. He pretty much wore the same suit, shirt, and tie combination—gray two-button suit, white button-down-collar shirt, solid-blue tie—every single day.

Lauren Wright was his antithesis in every way, starting with the moniker people used behind her back: “Lauren Always Right.” Not the cleverest nickname, but it fit. Her reputation was that she was infallible. In her judgment about cases, about people, about everything.

It was big news when Ella Broden stepped down. Not a shocker, given who her father is, but a deputy doesn’t often leave the job. When one does, it triggers a rush of would-be successors, something akin to what happens when a politician in a safe congressional district decides to seek higher office.

I had gone on the interview on something of a lark. I knew that there would be at least half a dozen people vying for the spot, and I assumed that Lauren would promote from within her group. Lilly Weitzner, the head of the Sex Crimes Division, or Sara Sadinoff, the leader of the Elder Abuse Division, were the odds-on favorites.

Lauren and I met in her office. Whereas Stickleman’s work space was cold and off-putting, like its occupant, Lauren’s office was thoroughly inviting. The décor was light: a pale yellow sofa and sky-blue chairs surrounded the conference table. Impressionist prints in white frames adorned the walls, and her desk was a warm cherry wood—obviously one that she purchased herself, because the standard-issue DA’s desk lacked even a hint of style. A needlepoint picture on the wall behind her chair read: “A Woman’s Work is Putting Away Sex Offenders.”

I couldn’t even remember when I first met Stickleman, but I knew instantly that my introduction to Lauren Wright would be indelible. That my career and my life would never be the same.