“I get that you need time,” Payton said, interrupting my anger, “but we don’t have it. Julius needs your help now.”
“Who?”
“My friend. He’s the club manager.”
I broke my gaze from Payton and stared at the tabletop marred with scratches. She wanted me to defend a pimp? I struggled. “Okay, putting all the personal shit to the side for a minute, how exactly is the FBI involved?”
“Earlier tonight I negotiated a deal between a woman and some asshole, and after I left the room, it went to shit. The guy tried to kill her, and he would have done it if Julius hadn’t stopped him.” Payton took a deep, preparing breath. “So, apparently, this woman, who I thought was my friend, is actually an undercover agent, and the asshole is a congressman. Or, he was. Don’t think they let you stay in office when you try to strangle the fucking life out of someone.”
“It was a sting operation to bring down the club?”
“No, I don’t think so. Regan—” A scowl crossed her face. “The agent has been working at the club for over a year.”
If that had been the goal, the feds wouldn’t need that much time to shut down the club. It meant the sting had been set up to trap someone else. The congressman? Maybe other high profile players in Chicago?
“Did you witness the assault?”
“Not in person, but Julius has video of the whole thing.”
Her eyes hinted at something and I understood instantly. “Julius has it. Not the FBI.”
“He’s smart.” She rose from her chair, forcing me to do the same. “He knows how valuable the video is.” Payton stepped closer. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but will you help him? Julius saved Regan’s life and called the ambulance, knowing it was going to destroy his club. He’s a good guy.”
My gaze fell to her hand, which gently gripped my arm.
“Please, Kyle.”
I’d failed Payton as a brother most of my life. I wasn’t going to do it anymore.
My voice was strong. “Of course. Where is he?”
Chapter
TWO
ONE MONTH LATER
Spoons. I was actually getting ready to write a motion about spoons.
Keith and Elizabeth Gillespie had been in the process of divorcing for more than two years. Their union had begun forty-three years ago, and I was certain they’d despised each other at least that long. So why had they gotten married in the first place? Keith said the sex, even now, was fantastic.
They fought over everything as I struggled to separate their assets. Last month it had been the window treatments. Now it was a set of collectable spoons from a trip they’d taken to Rome. In 1997.
Two years ago, I’d been at a top-tier firm in Manhattan, arguing cases that mattered. Now, I’d been handed the Gillespie’s joke of a divorce, a case from the bottom of the barrel. Punishment for not coming to James, Franklin, and McCreary after I’d graduated law school as my parents expected me to. It’d been five years and they still weren’t over it.
I spun in my office chair, turning to glance out the floor-to-ceiling window. I stared at the black tinted windows of another high-rise. If I leaned forward in my chair, there would be a break in the buildings and I could see a sliver of Lake Michigan.
“Kyle.”
My father stood in my doorway, one hand on the door frame. Robert McCreary’s hair was graying and had gone completely white at the temples. It made him look trustworthy, when the truth was he was a shark.
“What’s your schedule for New Year’s Eve?”
My parents wanted to spend the holiday together as a family? That’d be a first.
“I don’t have anything yet. Why?”
“Your mother double booked us for a fundraising event and a midnight cruise with the partners.” He didn’t pause long enough for me to protest, since I knew what he was about to say. “We need you to go to the fundraiser for us.”