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powers that be at the firm about conflicts, and, you know, the corporate guys would prefer we not represent any criminal defendants unless they’re investment bankers, but if you’re up for it, I’ll do what I can to make it happen.”
    â€œI’m definitely up for it, Benjamin.”
    â€œThen good luck.”
    When I arrived the next morning at 100 Centre Street, the Manhattan Criminal Court building was bursting with reporters. They were camped outside the entrance, in the corridors, and right in front of the courtroom door, with a lucky few getting past security to have the honor of watching the proceedings.
    I didn’t even have the chance to introduce myself to Macy before the judge, the Honorable Jordan Ringel, a longtime fixture on the criminal bench, asked that I state my appearance for the record.
    â€œDaniel Sorensen, of the law firm Taylor Beckett, Your Honor.”
    â€œTaylor Beckett. Nothing but the best for Mr. Macy, I see,” Judge Ringel said. “So, let’s see if you’re going to earn your keep, Mr. Sorensen. What say you regarding the issue of bail?”
    â€œWe respectfully request that Mr. Macy be released on his own recognizance, Your Honor. Mr. Macy has a very bright future ahead of him, and there is no way he would jeopardize that by attempting to flee the jurisdiction. And as a practical matter, Mr. Macy may very well be the most recognized man in this country. There’s nowhere for him to hide, and the charges against him will be known by every airport ticket taker and border patrol agent, so there’s no possible way for him to flee the country. In other words, even if he were inclined to flee, which he is not, he couldn’t do it.”
    â€œHow do the people feel about that?” Judge Ringel asked.
    The assistant district attorney handling the calendar call was someone I’d never met before. She was in her forties, and seeing how the calendar call duties usually go to a more junior lawyer, she was undoubtedly there solely for Macy.
    â€œNancy Wong, for the people,” the prosecutor said. “Given the seriousness of the crime and the potential of a long incarceration, the people request that bail be set at five million dollars.”
    Most bail bondsmen require 10 percent of the bail amount down, which meant that Macy wouldn’t make bail at all if I didn’t get it down to $2 million.
    â€œYour Honor,” I said, “as the court well knows, bail is not punitive, but merely to ensure the defendant’s appearance at trial. I am informed that Mr. Macy does not have access to considerable funds. Perhaps if bail were set at one million dollars, that would satisfy the court.”
    Judge Ringel laughed. “If I were Solomon, I’d split the difference. But alas, I’m not blessed with such wisdom. I’m only a lowly New York State criminal justice. That said, this justice is inclined to believe Mr. Sorensen’s pitch, and so I’m going to set bail at one million dollars.”
    Two hours later, I left the courthouse with my newest client. We headed straight to Taylor Beckett’s offices.
    Macy’s wife, Erica, was with us, and he insisted that she sit in onthe meeting. My normal practice was to exclude spouses because they usually inhibited getting to the truth, and that went double here. No one is going to admit to a rape, or even use the defense of consensual sex, with his wife sitting next to him.
    No one except Darrius Macy, that is.
    â€œLook, I know I screwed up really bad,” he said, alternating his gaze between his wife and me. “But . . . that woman, she followed me up to my room and . . . basically threw herself at me. I should have said no, so I know I’m not without blame, and it’s all on me for hurting Erica and my kids, but, I swear, I did not rape her.”
    After Macy had denied the charges against him about ten different ways, I told Erica