Fatal Convictions by Randy Singer Read Free Book Online Page B

announced, the number of licensed lawyers at Madison and Associates tripled.
    Alex’s grandfather had loved Shannon’s work ethic, and Alex’s grandmother was hardly subtle in her attempts to get the two young lawyers to become more than friends. But Shannon had other plans. She bounced around between boyfriends before landing with a gymnastics coach at the University of Georgia who was intense, possessive, and controlling. After three years of dating, and while they were engaged, Shannon caught him fooling around with a coed.
    Alex helped her pick up the pieces. But just when he was ready to ask her out, Shannon swore off relationships and said she wanted to concentrate on her law career. With the pressure off, their friendship had blossomed during the past two years to the point where Alex couldn’t imagine practicing law without her.
    He poured a cup of coffee and checked his voice messages. When he heard the voice of Khalid Mobassar calling about his wife’s case, Alex perked up. He called the imam back and set up a meeting. Then he pumped his fist and strutted down to his partner’s office. He plopped down in one of Shannon’s client chairs, holding two yellow stickies in his right hand with information about his cherished new case.
    He watched Shannon edit a document on her computer, her face knit in concentration, as she refused to acknowledge his presence.
    “Got a minute?” he asked.
    “Not really, Alex; I’ve got to finish this brief.”
    “Fine.” Alex shrugged, making no effort to rise. “Then you’re probably not interested in this huge new personal-injury case I just landed.”
    Shannon paused and looked up, her face a cross between annoyance and curiosity. She’d heard it all before. “That’s correct,” she said. “Your huge, can’t-lose, once-in-a-lifetime, pay-all-the-bills case is just going to have to wait until I get this brief done on a garden-variety motion to compel in a case where the client is paying us real money.”
    Pronouncement over, Shannon returned to her screen and resumed typing.
    “Brain injury,” Alex said.
    Shannon checked a document next to her computer, turned the page.
    “Clear liability.”
    She typed a few more sentences.
    “Insurance coverage of $100,000. Unless we can find the truck that caused the accident; then maybe half a million.”
    When even this didn’t slow Shannon down, Alex reached over and picked up the calculator from her desk. “Let’s just say the jury goes crazy and gives us two million. . . . We divide that by three. . . . Oh, not good—$666,666. Mm. Too many sixes.”
    Though Alex wasn’t superstitious, there was no sense playing around with the mark of the beast. He punched in a few more numbers. “That’s better. If we go for 35 percent, we net $700,000. And seven’s the perfect number.”
    Shannon sighed loudly, a big show, then stopped typing and looked at Alex. She was cute when she tried to act perturbed. “Three minutes,” she said.
    Alex took ten to tell her about the case. He recounted how Ghaniyah Mobassar had been minding her own business when a tractor trailer essentially ran her off North Landing Road and into a tree.
    “We can sue John Doe and probably recover a hundred grand under uninsured motorist coverage,” Alex said. “So right there, that’s $33,000. But if we can find that truck driver, he’s probably covered for a couple million.”
    “Do you have an accident report?” Shannon asked.
    “Not yet. I’m getting that this afternoon.”
    “Is the brain damage showing up on an MRI or CT scan?”
    How did Shannon always manage to drill right into the weak spots? “No. But there’s no question she suffered traumatic brain injury. She was knocked unconscious and suffered short-term memory loss. Lots of damage to the passenger side of the car. She hit the tree almost head-on.”
    Shannon remained visibly skeptical, but she was no longer stealing glances at her brief. “How’d we get the