The Color of Law by Mark Gimenez Read Free Book Online

Three of the United States Constitution—for life. They can’t be voted off the bench. They don’t need campaign contributions from big law firms. They don’t fear powerful lawyers. Cross a federal judge and you live with it for thirty or forty years—you’ll never win another case in his court. A large law firm like Ford Stevens with an active federal court practice could not afford to offend Judge Sam Buford.
    “We’ve got a dozen pending cases on his docket. Big-dollar cases. We become personae non gratae in Buford’s court, we lose our federal practice until the bastard dies.”
    “Or retires.”
    “Buford will die on the bench, just like Gene.”
    Gene Stevens, the firm’s cofounder, had died at his desk last year, a pen in his hand, his hand on his daily time sheet, recording his last billable hour. Within twenty-four hours, his office had been cleaned out and Scott had moved in.
    “Buford said it’ll be a media circus,” Scott said.
    “Yeah, lots of publicity for the firm—all the wrong kind.” Dan’s pale face was pinking up like a newborn’s. “Goddamnit, this firm cannot defend that whore!”
    Dan closed his eyes, placed his hand over his face, and rubbed his temples. His thinking mode. And when Dan Ford thought hard, he always emerged with the correct answer. Scott’s senior partner possessed a mind engineered like the Mercedes-Benz he drove: powerful, efficient, dependable, and wholly without a moral component. So Scott sat quietly while Dan’s mind worked. He turned his eyes upward and checked out the walls for new trophy kills. Dan was a big-game hunter; mounted on the walls were stuffed heads of the wild animals he had bagged over the years, all looking down on Scott. It was kind of creepy.
    After a moment, Dan removed his hand. He was smiling.
    “Get her to plead out.”
    “She says she’s innocent, wants a trial.”
    “So? Look, Scotty, go see her, explain the real likelihood the case will be lost and that she’ll be sentenced to death or best case, spend the rest of her life in prison. That by pleading out she’ll be released by the time she’s fifty and she can still have a life…You know, turn on that famous charm, pretend you care.”
    “And if she doesn’t go for it?”
    “She goddamn well better go for it! I’m not going to have this firm’s revenues damaged by some two-bit hooker!”
    Dan’s face was now a bright red, and he was pointing a finger at Scott, a sure sign it was time to leave. Scott stood and eased toward the door.
    “You tell her she’s pleading out whether she likes it or not!”
    Scotty nodded and slid out. He was ten paces down the hall when he heard Dan’s voice again: “Cop a plea, Scotty!”

FIVE
    S COTT STEERED the red Ferrari out of the parking garage, gave Osvaldo, the attendant, his customary salute, and turned north. While most downtown workers commuted to their homes in the distant suburbs via the Dallas North Tollway or the North Central Expressway, hopelessly stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic for hours and suppressing the road rage that left a number of drivers dead each year on Dallas highways, Scott Fenney drove leisurely up Cedar Springs Road and Turtle Creek Boulevard and Lakeside Drive and then past Robert E. Lee Park, homeward bound over the same route important men of Dallas had traveled for a hundred years. Ten minutes later, he crossed a two-lane swath of asphalt and, as if his fairy godmother had waved her magic wand, his world abruptly changed: land values quintupled, home values quadrupled, per capita income tripled, students’ achievement test scores doubled, and the population turned all white.
    He had entered the Town of Highland Park.
    Developed in 1906 on thirteen hundred acres of high land above downtown Dallas, Highland Park today is a sanctuary of elegant homes, landscaped lawns, and broad avenues canopied by towering oak trees. On its wide sidewalks European nannies and Mexican maids can be seen pushing the heirs