“Call me Josh?”

“Josh,” I said with a smile. “I realize this is a little irregular, what with our firms competing for class counsel. But I wanted to get to know you better.”

His eyes shone behind his glasses. “Really?”

Not really. I already knew what I needed to know about him. I’d profiled him online. He’d majored in humanities at Oberlin and graduated from Berkeley Law with dreams of practicing good law. A lot of law students started out that way. They thought they’d do civil rights, or environmental law, or death penalty cases. Five years later they were doing tax law and defending polluters. But Josh stuck to his guns and went to work for Ned Bartman, who, like Mark, touted himself as a crusader against corporate malfeasance. The other things I’d learned about Josh? He was twenty-six and had an out-of-shape body, an unfortunate nose, and no social media indication of any woman in his life.

“I read your law review article,” I told him. “On whistleblower protections? I was so impressed.”

“Oh!” He seemed embarrassed by his obvious pleasure and took a quick gulp of his drink to conceal it. He became even more embarrassed when he realized I didn’t yet have a drink. “Oh!” he said again. “What can I get you?”

I asked for a white wine spritzer, and while he went to the bar, I tucked my chair in closer to his. He returned with a glass for me, and I tapped it briefly against his. “Your article. It shows such incredible scholarship,” I said. “I know Mark would love to have that kind of intellect on our team.”

“Wow. Thanks,” he said.

“I was wondering. In the course of your thinking on these issues—did you consider the quandary faced by a potential whistleblower who’s a lawyer?”

“How do you mean?”

“The lawyer has an express duty of loyalty to his client. But what if the client’s done something that the lawyer feels a moral obligation to report? How do you reconcile those conflicts?”

“Well, the rules are pretty clear,” he said. “If the client’s about to do something illegal, the lawyer can reveal it. But not if it’s already been done.”

“What if the bad act’s already been done, but the client continues to profit from it? I’m struggling with that.”

He blinked a few times behind his smudged lenses. “Um, well—”

“Let’s say a lawyer in a law firm—or a corporate law department—discovers something nefarious. Some wrongdoing that really ought to be exposed. But he’d have to breach confidentiality and loyalty to do it. How do you reconcile your duty to do good with your duties as a lawyer?”

His mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut. “I knew it. You found out something at CDMI. It’s why they framed you. To discredit you if you go public.”

I sighed and looked away long enough for him to feel certain he’d guessed correctly.

“I wonder if you’d be willing to give that question some thought,” I said finally. “And if you come up with anything—anything at all—let me know? I don’t expect you to go on the record. Any advice you’re willing to give me, I’ll absolutely keep to myself.” I laid my hand on his knee and felt a muscle jump against my palm. “I wish we had someone like you at Mark Ivins and Associates.” I put a wistful tone in my voice. “If you ever want to make a move, Josh, I know Mark would be thrilled.”