Audrey hung up and clicked on the folder storing the images of the order tickets for Pierre’s account, recently scanned from the document pull. The order tickets had those signoffs. So, Pierre’s account was being treated as a discretionary trading account. She sat up straighter, feeling lighter already. It was something, but they still needed that written authorization signed by Pierre. She rubbed her neck and shoulder muscles. She needed to win this case. She wasn’t going to be promoted if they lost this case—and possibly then the client.

Was there another reason why Pierre, a reputed multi-millionaire, would sue her client, Rothman, destroying their twenty-year friendship for a $200,000 trade? Especially when the stock was volatile and might recover? John Rothman had been upset about the loss of their friendship. Not overtly, but a few heartfelt remarks here and there when he’d explained how they had been family friends; their wives, best friends. A personal reason made more sense, given the ramifications. That wasn’t something she usually considered as a lawyer, but an emotional rationale could appeal to a jury.

Winnie called to see if she was still free to pick up lunch. “I need to vent,” she said.

“Oh no. What happened?”

“They told me I’m going to Texas to manage our document discovery. Just one week, but still.” Winnie sounded frustrated.

“Oh no.” Audrey saved her document. “Meet you downstairs.”

She caught the elevator right before the doors closed. Swooping in, she nearly bumped into senior partner Gene Whitaker.

“Wherever you’re going, it’s not worth losing your hand over,” Gene said, his bushy eyebrows rising up as he leaned back against the wall, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Lunch. I heard you were retiring. I’m really sorry to hear that. You’ll be missed,” she said. Gene was one of her idol partners. Tough, but fair. Willing to mentor young lawyers.

He harrumphed. “More like, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Her brow furrowed. “When is your retirement party?”

“I’m not having one. The firm’s got enough to worry about right now, without planning my party.”

“I hardly think that planning your departure party is a hardship that the firm can’t handle,” she said, shocked.

“So you’d think.”

The doors opened onto the lobby. Winnie was texting by the window. Audrey admired her white military-style dress with little brass buttons in a vertical row. It was cutting-edge chic, almost too hip for the law firm. Winnie visited her grandmother in Hong Kong every summer and inevitably returned with a few stunning tailored pieces.

She joined Winnie, whispering, “The firm isn’t even throwing a departure party for Whitaker.”

Winnie nodded knowingly.

They pushed through the revolving doors to the street. It was muggy, the air heavy. The sulfur smell of the steam rising from a New York City manhole cover hit them.