One Good Dog by Susan Wilson Read Free Book Online

black T-shirt. Behind them is a gathering of her friends and supporters. A short line of reporters, press credentials hanging around their necks, sit in the last row of chairs.
    Behind Adam, there is no one.
    Ted Abramowitz, his lawyer, later shakes his hand and congratulates him. “It could have been worse, lots worse.” The pumping hand action of the happy lawyer threatens to turn into a backslap. Worse? Than what, a death sentence? The judge has sentenced Adam to two years probation and one year of community service, plus assigning him court costs,monetary damages, and counseling. Should this end here? Not likely. Sophie’s plump lips thin into a dissatisfied line. Her lawyer pats her on the shoulder and a look passes between them; a civil suit will follow.
    Abramowitz assures Adam that he should be ecstatic. How so, Adam wonders, with a smear like this on his pristine record? Because he’s been unable to defend the takeover plan, the whole thing looks like a colossal mistake. And Wannamaker looks even more godlike, having saved Dynamic’s reputation by calling a halt. To say nothing of the fact that he’s going to have to fight to get any severance from Dynamic. No golden parachute was offered, just the boot heel of his pension—don’t let the door slam on the way out. Seems as though even the most morally suspect of giant corporations have limits. Not only that: Who will hire a top exec with a criminal record, however lightly handled?
    To say nothing of his divorce.
    His esteemed lawyer licks his lips in anticipation of further business. He’s going to be living off the fatted calf for some time at this rate. Although Abramowitz comes from one of the city’s better-known legal firms, it is a firm Adam has never used. Quick on the draw, Sterling engaged their personal lawyers, and was rewarded with the services of the best of the best in attorneys, a golfing buddy, a man Adam once thought of as a friend.
    “Now we should figure out where you’ll do your service. We can get you someplace that won’t be too onerous. Maybe tutoring at the community college.” Ted Abramowitz stuffs his briefcase with the thick file folders of Adam’s case. Adam isn’t listening to the second-best lawyer money can buy. Heis jobless, convicted of a stupid mistake that wasn’t his fault. His wife is poisoning his daughter’s mind against him, and his lawyer thinks he’s had good news?
    Once the verdict has been read, the press clamor for a sound bite. Abramowitz waves them away, fairly easily, as this case isn’t that interesting laid against the backdrop of the recent economic woes. Adam’s case, and the press’s interest in it, has been relegated to an inside page.
    “Are you sorry?” One female reporter, a thin, narrow notebook in hand, waits for an answer. She wears jeans, and her dangling credentials identify her as from the local weekly, the giveaway paper. She looks about fifteen years old. Has he gotten so middle-aged that all young women look like teenagers? That they all look like his last memory of Veronica?
    Adam’s lawyer bleats, “No comment,” but the girl catches Adam’s eye, holding it with the force of her own question. And for a confused moment, Adam thinks she means about his sister. That’s been the strangest thing, this regret that, in the end, it wasn’t Veronica after all.
    The girl reporter and the disgraced executive stare at each other, she wants an answer to fill out her story; he has no answer. The moment is broken when the bailiff beckons to Adam and his lawyer. The judge wants a word.
    As suggested by the breeze that had followed the judge into the courtroom, Judge Frank Johnson’s chambers are cool, and after the fuggy warmth of the old courtroom, Adam feels goose bumps rise on his arms. Without his robe, and on a level with them, the judge is whittled down to an ordinary-looking man. A tracery of blond-going-to-white fringe from ear to ear, and a pair of Buddy Holly glasses sliding