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Authors: Sidney Sheldon
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amazed at how young and lovely some of them were. They became a small but steady source of income. She could not find out who sent them to her. When she mentioned it to Ken Bailey, he shrugged in a gesture of ignorance and walked away.
Whenever a client came to see Jennifer, Ken Bailey would discreetly leave. He was like a proud father, encouraging Jennifer to succeed.
Jennifer was offered several divorce cases and turned them down. She could not forget what one of her law professors had once said: Divorce is to the practice of law what proctology is to the practice of medicine. Most divorce lawyers had bad reputations. The maxim was that when a married couple saw red, lawyers saw green. A high-priced divorce lawyer was known as a bomber, for he would use legal high explosives to win a case for a client and, in the process, often destroyed the husband, the wife and the children.
A few of the clients who came into Jennifer’s office were different in a way that puzzled her.
They were well dressed, with an air of affluence about them, and the cases they brought to her were not the nickel-and-dime cases Jennifer had been accustomed to handling. There were estates to be settled that amounted to substantial sums of money, and lawsuits that any large firm would have been delighted to represent.
“Where did you hear about me?” Jennifer would ask.
The replies she got were always evasive. From a friend…I read about you…your name was mentioned at a party…It was not until one of her clients, in the course of explaining his problems, mentioned Adam Warner that Jennifer suddenly understood.
“Mr. Warner sent you to me, didn’t he?”
The client was embarrassed. “Well, as a matter of fact, he suggested it might be better if I didn’t mention his name.”
Jennifer decided to telephone Adam. After all, she did owe him a debt of thanks. She would be polite, but formal. Naturally, she would not let him get the impression that she was calling him for any reason other than to express her appreciation. She rehearsed the conversation over and over in her mind. When Jennifer finally got up enough nerve to telephone, a secretary informed her that Mr. Warner was in Europe and was not expected back for several weeks. It was an anticlimax that left Jennifer depressed.
She found herself thinking of Adam Warner more and more often. She kept remembering the evening he had come to her apartment and how badly she had behaved. He had been wonderful to put up with her childish behavior when she had taken out her anger on him. Now, in addition to everything else he had done for her, he was sending her clients.
Jennifer waited three weeks and then telephoned Adam again. This time he was in South America.
“Is there any message?” his secretary asked.
Jennifer hesitated. “No message.”
Jennifer tried to put Adam out of her mind, but it was impossible. She wondered whether he was married or engaged. She wondered what it would be like to be Mrs. Adam Warner. She wondered if she were insane.
From time to time Jennifer came across the name of Michael Moretti in the newspapers or weekly magazines. There was an in-depth story in the New Yorker magazine on Antonio Granelli and the eastern Mafia Families. Antonio Granelli was reported to be in failing health and Michael Moretti, his son-in-law, was preparing to take over his empire. Life magazine ran a story about Michael Moretti’s lifestyle, and at the end of the story it spoke of Moretti’s trial. Camillo Stela was serving time in Leavenworth, while Michael Moretti was free. It reminded its readers how Jennifer Parker had destroyed the case that would have sent him to prison or the electric chair. As Jennifer read the article, her stomach churned. The electric chair? She could cheerfully have pulled the switch on Michael Moretti herself.
Most of Jennifer’s clients were unimportant, but the education was priceless. Over the months, Jennifer came to know every room in the Criminal
Whenever a client came to see Jennifer, Ken Bailey would discreetly leave. He was like a proud father, encouraging Jennifer to succeed.
Jennifer was offered several divorce cases and turned them down. She could not forget what one of her law professors had once said: Divorce is to the practice of law what proctology is to the practice of medicine. Most divorce lawyers had bad reputations. The maxim was that when a married couple saw red, lawyers saw green. A high-priced divorce lawyer was known as a bomber, for he would use legal high explosives to win a case for a client and, in the process, often destroyed the husband, the wife and the children.
A few of the clients who came into Jennifer’s office were different in a way that puzzled her.
They were well dressed, with an air of affluence about them, and the cases they brought to her were not the nickel-and-dime cases Jennifer had been accustomed to handling. There were estates to be settled that amounted to substantial sums of money, and lawsuits that any large firm would have been delighted to represent.
“Where did you hear about me?” Jennifer would ask.
The replies she got were always evasive. From a friend…I read about you…your name was mentioned at a party…It was not until one of her clients, in the course of explaining his problems, mentioned Adam Warner that Jennifer suddenly understood.
“Mr. Warner sent you to me, didn’t he?”
The client was embarrassed. “Well, as a matter of fact, he suggested it might be better if I didn’t mention his name.”
Jennifer decided to telephone Adam. After all, she did owe him a debt of thanks. She would be polite, but formal. Naturally, she would not let him get the impression that she was calling him for any reason other than to express her appreciation. She rehearsed the conversation over and over in her mind. When Jennifer finally got up enough nerve to telephone, a secretary informed her that Mr. Warner was in Europe and was not expected back for several weeks. It was an anticlimax that left Jennifer depressed.
She found herself thinking of Adam Warner more and more often. She kept remembering the evening he had come to her apartment and how badly she had behaved. He had been wonderful to put up with her childish behavior when she had taken out her anger on him. Now, in addition to everything else he had done for her, he was sending her clients.
Jennifer waited three weeks and then telephoned Adam again. This time he was in South America.
“Is there any message?” his secretary asked.
Jennifer hesitated. “No message.”
Jennifer tried to put Adam out of her mind, but it was impossible. She wondered whether he was married or engaged. She wondered what it would be like to be Mrs. Adam Warner. She wondered if she were insane.
From time to time Jennifer came across the name of Michael Moretti in the newspapers or weekly magazines. There was an in-depth story in the New Yorker magazine on Antonio Granelli and the eastern Mafia Families. Antonio Granelli was reported to be in failing health and Michael Moretti, his son-in-law, was preparing to take over his empire. Life magazine ran a story about Michael Moretti’s lifestyle, and at the end of the story it spoke of Moretti’s trial. Camillo Stela was serving time in Leavenworth, while Michael Moretti was free. It reminded its readers how Jennifer Parker had destroyed the case that would have sent him to prison or the electric chair. As Jennifer read the article, her stomach churned. The electric chair? She could cheerfully have pulled the switch on Michael Moretti herself.
Most of Jennifer’s clients were unimportant, but the education was priceless. Over the months, Jennifer came to know every room in the Criminal
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