Page 41 of Crash Course
Ro flipped him the bird. "Fine," he said. "If they give away sludge, I’ll see if I can confirm the farm we’re looking at received it. If they have, what does that mean?"
As if Cruz knew? This was the fun of research. You never knew what you’d find. "How the hell do I know? It’s a start, Ro. Let’s see where it takes us."
"A plea offer,"Cilla told Donovan Jenkins, her banker client accused of a variety of federal financial crimes that could earn him forty years, likely the rest of his life, in prison.
On the other end of the phone Donovan grunted. "A plea. Now? We’re about to start jury selection."
They sure were. Plus, they had a sick judge who needed the day off, thus delaying the start of jury selection and leaving Cilla holed up in an Asheville hotel room. All of which apparently gave the prosecution time to consider a plea.
Cilla sat back in the desk chair and pondered a smudge on the wall. "Something must be spooking them. It’s a good sign for us. However, you never know what a jury will do."
"I’m not guilty."
Cilla didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. The government had enough evidence to build a circumstantial case against her client. And when it came to mishandling the funds of hard-working people, jurists didn’t play.
At all.
"Don, are you willing to entertain an offer?"
"I don’t know. What would you do?"
No way, buddy. She’d learned this lesson the hard way early in her career. Confident in the defense they’d built, she’d answered honestly, telling the client she’d go to trial.
Unfortunately, the jury didn’t buy it and the client railed on her about giving him crappy advice. That guy? Still in prison.
"I can’t answer that," Cilla told Donovan. "It’s a decent offer. I could probably sweeten it, but if you’re not interested, let’s not waste anyone’s time."
"Send it to me. I’ll look it over."
Cilla pumped a fist. As much as she loved battling it out in court, this case? Blech. At best, her client looked like a scumbag willing to siphon money from accident victims who trusted him to be their conservator.
He loaned himself, and his buddies, money from those funds at below market interest levels. And, hello? How about the private plane to the Super Bowl that cost the exact amount withdrawn from one account?
Callous idiot.
For that alone, he should be punished. However, his constitutional rights wouldn’t be violated on her watch.
"I’ll send it over," she said. "Call me with questions. Assuming Judge Nagle is well enough, we’re due in court tomorrow. If you want to pursue a deal, let me know ASAP and I’ll call the DA."
"Will do. Thank you."
"Of course."
She disconnected and checked the time on her phone: 3:00. Still time to review discovery on her murder case. Before she could pull up the notes on her laptop, her phone rang.
Cruz Blackwell.
"Rrowr,"she said, because that man?
Hot.
Hot.
Hot.
She tapped the screen. "Good afternoon, Cruz Blackwell."
"Hey. You busy?"
