There were only a few names that piqued Gavin’s interest, and they were the least coveted of the trading cards. The first guy he called wanted Gavin to wait nearly a week to meet, on account of him being in trial. That wouldn’t do. The clock was ticking on Gavin’s plan, and now that Lila Nash had been thrown into the mix, he had to trim his timeline by weeks. How dare that asshole ask him to wait!

The first attorney to visit Gavin in jail spent his time bragging that he’d handled dozens of cases like Gavin’s. He didn’t actually say that he’d won those cases, but that didn’t matter to Gavin. When he finished his pitch, Gavin asked the man a single question.

That lawyer failed his test.

The second lawyer did no better, trying to come across as though Gavin would be lucky to have him. “I have an opening at the moment, but I’ll be meeting a guy tomorrow—a possible white-collar case—so if you want that slot, now’s the time to pull the trigger.” Did that timeshare-sales pitch actually work? Again, Gavin asked him the critical question, and that man, too, failed.

The third, a man named Leo Reecey, seemed particularly well suited for Gavin’s purposes. His license had once been suspended because he’d stolen money from a client’s trust account. He’d been sued by another client for failing to disclose a conflict of interest. The two men in Gavin’s pod who had Reecey as an attorney wore an aura of dread as they paced the common area. Leo Reecey seemed a perfect pawn.

Reecey showed up wearing a slept-in corduroy jacket mismatched against his khaki pants. He had bags under his eyes, etched in permanent half-moons, and the bulbous nose of a man who needed a few nips to get through the day. He may as well have worn a sandwich board reading WILL SELL SOUL FOR CASH.

They met in a small conference room, a ten-by-ten space with a stainless-steel table mounted to the floor and four seats sprouting up out of the concrete like toadstools. No cell phones allowed. No guards listening in. No cameras rolling in the corner. The room was built to ensure attorney-client privilege. It had a red panic button near the door, but if an inmate decided to kill his attorney, the lawyer would have little chance of getting to that button in time.

Reecey greeted Gavin with a handshake and a tired smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Reecey,” Gavin said, putting his speech impediment on full display. “May I call you Leo?”

“That’d be my preference.” The two men took seats at the table. “I read up on your case,” Reecey said.

“Don’t believe everything you read.”