The Tenth Justice Read online

“Ober, if you got me arrested, I’d call your boss and tell her you faxed me a photocopy of your penis last week.”

  “So?” Ober said.

  “And then I’d tell her you were the one who sideswiped her car at the office barbecue last July.”

  “So?”

  “And then I’d call all your overdue credit cards and give them your real address and your daytime telephone number.”

  Ober paused. “So?”

  “And then I’d tell Eric that you’re constantly stealing his quarters to do your laundry.”

  “You’re what?” Eric asked.

  “Oh, he’s so full of sh—”

  “That’s where all my quarters went!”

  “Good night,” Ben said, standing from the couch. “Time for bed.”

  At six-thirty the next morning, Ben walked into the kitchen for breakfast. “Morning,” he said to Nathan, always the earliest riser.

  Folding the newspaper on the table, Nathan pushed aside his bowl of cereal. “I think you should see this.”

  “What is it?” Ben asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Read it to me.”

  “I think you should read it,” Nathan said.

  Ben picked up the paper. The headline blared, INVESTIGATION OPENED AFTER HIGH COURT’S CMI DECISION. Quickly, he read, “A high-level source at the Supreme Court revealed that an official investigation has been opened to dismiss rumors of wrongdoing during the recent CMI decision. After Charles Maxwell risked millions on the outcome of the case, critics from Wall Street to Washington have suspected foul play. As a result, the Court has begun ‘a high level and thorough investigation.’ According to the source, ‘Everyone who knew the outcome in advance, from the printing department to the law clerks, will be thoroughly questioned.’”

  Ben ground his teeth. “This is a bunch of crap,” he said, throwing the paper on the table. “There’s no investigation. They’re just trying to create some controversy.”

  “Did you see the byline?”

  When he read the words “By Eric Stroman,” Ben’s stomach dropped. “I don’t believe this.”

  “Just relax,” Nathan said, putting a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

  “That motherfucker!” Ben screamed, ripping up the paper. He ran out of the room and shot up the stairs. “ERIC! WAKE THE HELL UP!”

  “Just calm down,” Nathan called, following his friend.

  Ben kicked open the door to Eric’s room. The bed was empty. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. “Where the hell is he?” Ben asked. A white envelope lay in the middle of Eric’s unmade bed, with Ben’s name written on the outside.

  As Ben opened the envelope, Ober staggered into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “What the hell is going on?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “Don’t ask,” Nathan warned.

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” Ben announced, ignoring the card in his hand. “Our piece-of-shit roommate wrote a story on page five of the newspaper about potential wrongdoings at the Court. He then went on to wrongly report that an investigation has been opened, and that members of the staff are suspected of leaking information to Charles Maxwell before the decision was handed down. In other words, he fucked me. If there wasn’t an investigation before, there is one now. And if there was one before, he just forced Court security to turn the heat up.”

  “No way,” Ober said.

  “Just relax,” Nathan said. “What’s the card say?”

  “Dear Ben,” he read. “At this point, I’m sure you’re raging mad. I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain. I’m sorry I had to leave so early this morning, but I had some stuff to do at work. Always your friend, Eric.”

  “Oh, please,” Ben said, passing the card to Nathan. “He hasn’t been up before noon for a whole year, and today he had to go in early? He ran out on me.”

  “It sounds like there’s an explanation,” Nathan said, passing the card to Ober.

  “What could he possibly say?” Ben asked. “What explanation could possibly excuse this? ‘Sorry, we had some space to fill, so I decided to dick you over’?”

  “Maybe they needed to fill in for the word jumble,” Ober said.

  “Ober, don’t screw around with this,” Ben warned. “This is serious for me. This story could get me fired.” Ben was silent as he leaned on Eric’s dresser. Watching their friend, Nathan and Ober said nothing. “DAMN!” Ben screamed, pushing a stack of papers from Eric’s dresser. “They’re definitely investigating now. They can’t ignore this.”

  “You have to speak to him,” Nathan said. “Give him a call.”

  Looking at his watch, Ben said, “I’m late. I have to go.” He marched down the stairs, grabbed his overcoat from the closet, and stormed out of the house.

  “This will not be a pretty one,” Nathan said when the door slammed shut.

  “Did you know about this?” Ober asked.

  “Of course I didn’t know,” Nathan said.

  “I knew,” Ober said, sitting on Eric’s bed.

  “You knew?” Nathan asked. “You knew and you didn’t stop him?”

  “There was no stopping him,” Ober explained. “You know how Eric gets when he’s in reporter mode. He’s out to win the Pulitzer.”

  “Did you at least say something to him?”

  “Of course,” Ober said. “He wouldn’t listen. Besides, it was too late. He told me last night.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, their friendship is over,” Nathan said, picking up the knocked-over papers. “And Ben is not a person you want as your enemy.”

  “He’s definitely going to kill him,” Ober said.

  “Absolutely. He’ll never forgive this. And no matter how long it takes him, he’s going to make sure Eric’s miserable.”

  “Maybe we should make up a flyer for a new roommate,” Ober said,

  “Actually, why don’t you do that at work today? It’ll say: Wanted, semi-messy roommate to replace our old dead one. Must be willing to live with one genius, one monkey, and one Supreme Court clerk who’s recently acquired a taste for blood.”

  As he approached the Supreme Court, Ben struggled to calm himself. Taking deep, slow breaths, he climbed the stairs and entered the marble edifice. Biting the inside of his cheek, he showed his I.D. and walked around the metal detector. He made every attempt to appear calm, taking extra-small strides to slow himself down. Walking through reception, he was relieved to see that Nancy wasn’t in yet. As he entered his and Lisa’s office, he lightly shut the door behind him.

  “I guess you saw it,” Lisa said, the paper open on her desk.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Ben said, heading directly for his desk. “He’s a dead man.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “He ran out before I got up. Has anyone said anything yet?”

  “Nothing so far. It’s only seven, though. The day is young.”

  “That’s just great. Thanks for that piece of advice.”

  “Listen, it’s only the Washington Herald. Everyone in this town knows it’s a right-wing, lunatic paper. No one takes it seriously.” Getting no response from Ben, she added, “It didn’t even make the front page.”

  “Terrific. I’m thrilled.”

  “Listen, it could be worse. At least he didn’t say that it was a clerk.”

  “Well then, I’m tickled-fuckin’-pink,” Ben said, his voice rising. “It’s all okay now. I don’t have to worry. My career is just perfect. Thanks, Sally Sunshine, for showing me the way.”

  “Listen, I don’t need your asshole tone,” Lisa yelled across the desk. “I was just trying to help.”

  “Well, sorry if I’m not in the mood.”

  “It has nothing to do with being in the mood,” she said. “If you want to be miserable, go right ahead. But don’t take it out on me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said, leaning back in his chair. “I really am. I’m just scared about this whole thing.”

  “And you deserve to be. I’
d want to kick the crap out of him.”

  “I have no idea what to do.”

  “Well, I hate to be the one to say this, but there’s not a lot you can do about it now. We have to get the Russell decision done, and I still haven’t seen your first draft.”

  “Can’t you do it?”

  “Oh, don’t even think that,” Lisa warned. “I’m your friend, and I’m here whenever you want to talk, but don’t think you’re getting out of your work just so you can sulk all day.”

  “C’mon. I’d do it for you.”

  “Are you crazy? While you’re writing Russell and Pacheco, I’m editing Oshinsky, and Lowell Corp., and Pacific Royal, and Schopf. And we haven’t even started working on Grinnell, which is scheduled to be announced at the end of the month.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “What I’m saying is, don’t leave work and run down to the Washington Herald to confront your roommate, which I know you’ve been planning to do since you saw the damn article.”

  Ben fought a smile. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “I was going to wait until lunch to go down there.”

  At eleven-thirty, Ben’s phone rang. “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers,” he said, picking up the receiver.

  “Ben Addison? This is the Supreme Court security office. We need to speak to you. We believe you may be leaking information to the public.”

  “E-excuse me?” Ben said, panicking.

  “Just kidding!” Ober said. “It’s just me.”

  “Don’t do that! You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Oh, relax,” Ober said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Eric called me. He said he’d like to talk to you tonight.”

  “What time?”

  “Eight, if that’s okay with you.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll see him then.”

  “Who was it?” Lisa asked, noticing the irritated look on Ben’s face.

  “Just Ober.”

  A half hour later, the phone rang again. “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers,” Ben said.

  “Is this Ben Addison?” a voice asked.

  “Yes,” Ben said, annoyed to be pulled away from the Russell opinion.

  “Hi, Mr. Addison. My name is Diana Martin, and I’m with The Washington Post. I was wondering if you had any comment on the story in this morning’s Herald.”

  “Listen, if you work with Ober, tell him to bite me.”

  “Mr. Addison, I think you have me confused with someone else. As I said, I’m with The Washington Post. I’d be happy to fax over my press credentials. In fact, if you’d like, perhaps we could meet for lunch and talk this over.”

  Sitting up straight in his chair, Ben knocked over the coffee on his desk. “How can I help you today, Ms. Martin?” he asked as Lisa pulled a pile of napkins from her left-hand drawer.

  “Well, as I said, I was wondering if you had any comment on the story in today’s Herald.”

  As Ben lifted piles of paper from his desk, Lisa dabbed away the coffee. “I’m sorry,” Ben said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “In this morning’s Washington Herald, there was a story about a possible leaking of information during the recent CMI decision. I was wondering if you had anything you’d like to say about it. If you’d like, I’ll keep your identity secret. You’ll be an unidentified source.”

  Ben opened his top drawer and pulled out a small stack of papers. Searching through the stack and trying to avoid bumping into Lisa, Ben quickly found what he was looking for. Reading verbatim from the sheet titled “Response to Press,” he said, “I appreciate your concern on this matter, but as a clerk of the Supreme Court of the United States, I am not permitted to reveal any information to the press.”

  “So are you saying that there is an investigation taking place, but that you just can’t talk about it?”

  “Ms. Martin, I have nothing further to say,” Ben said, throwing aside the sheet. “Thanks for your time.” As Ben hung up the phone, Lisa finished soaking up the coffee. “Thanks for the help,” he said, wiping the remaining liquid from under his pencil sharpener.

  “No problem,” Lisa said. She walked back to her desk. “Was that really the press?”

  “I don’t believe it,” Ben said. “It was The Washington Post.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “They asked me about the story. I almost shit in my pants.”

  “It sounded like you were fine,” Lisa said. “You did the right thing. That’s what the press sheet was designed for.”

  “When I got this in August, I never thought I’d have to use it,” Ben said, putting the sheet back in his top drawer. “Do you think they know?”

  “No. They probably called everyone. I’m sure they know that the clerks are the easiest ones to get information from.”

  “I really think they know. They have to know.”

  “They don’t know a thing,” she said. “In fact, I’m surprised we haven’t gotten more calls from the press. I’d heard that we’d be called before every big decision.”

  “They haven’t called you,” Ben said. “Explain that, Miss Optimis—” Lisa’s phone rang.

  Lisa smiled. “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers.” As Ben listened, she said, “Yeah, I really can’t talk now. Can I call you back later? Yeah, now’s a bad time.”

  “Who was that?” Ben asked as Lisa hung up the phone.

  “Just an old friend from law school.” Walking over to Ben’s desk, she said, “Listen, don’t let this get you down. I’m sure they’re just going through their list. I’ll get called.”

  “Whatever,” Ben said. “It’s no big deal. I mean, they’re the press. They’re supposed to find these things out. It’s their job to wreck my life.”

  “Ben, your life is far from wrecked.”

  “Listen, I don’t need the pep talk. I know what I got into, and I’ll figure a way out of it.”

  “It’s not a matter of figuring a way out of it. You’re not in trouble. No one knows it’s you. Besides, worse comes to worst, you can always wait tables.”

  “That’s very funny,” Ben said, heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have a stupid lunch meeting with the firm I worked at two summers ago.”

  “A recruitment lunch?”

  “I imagine.”

  “Why are you going?” Lisa asked. “If you want to be a prosecutor, you don’t have to go to a firm. You should just go to the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

  “I wish. But the U.S. Attorney’s Office won’t help me pay off all the debt I have from law school.”

  “You still have law school debt? I thought your parents were wealthy executives?”

  “My mom’s an executive, but my family doesn’t have that kind of money. Anyway, I wanted to pay my own way.”

  “You did?”

  “It’s my responsibility. I’m the one who went to law school, I’m the one who gets the benefit. Why should they pay the bill?”

  “So how much debt do you have?”

  “From law school, about ninety-two thousand dollars.” Lisa’s mouth fell open. “And that’s not including the eight thousand that I paid off in the past two years.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of financial aid?”

  “Absolutely,” Ben said. “That’s how I got the loans.”

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t let your parents—”

  “It’s a long story,” Ben said. “In the end, they couldn’t afford to do much, and I wanted to make it easier on them. That’s it.” Looking down at his watch, he said, “I really have to go. I’m late.”

  Ben jumped into a cab outside the courthouse and headed to Gray’s, home of Washington’s premier power lunches. Although many of the city’s most important meetings were still held in dimly lit restaurants that smelled of cigar smoke, brandy, and
barely cooked steak, Gray’s attracted executives and congressional leaders who actually wanted to be seen at lunch. Of course, it still had four private rooms in the back for patrons who wanted to be more discreet. With oversized glass tables balanced on geometrical steel bases, and chairs draped with white slipcovers, the main dining room was arranged in a large circle, to facilitate celebrity spotting. The restaurant was decorated in stark black and white, giving it a minimalist look that was almost too ultramodern for downtown D.C.

  Once inside, Ben tightened his tie and looked for Adrian Alcott. Alcott was the hiring partner for Wayne & Portnoy, one of the city’s most established firms, and the place where Ben had worked during the summer after his second year of law school. As a summer associate at Wayne, he was taken by the recruiting committee to baseball games at Camden Yards, concerts at the Kennedy Center, and lunches and dinners at the best eateries on K Street. The summer was capped by a yachting excursion for the entire firm—more than four hundred people sailed away on two magnificent yachts. Knowing that they had attracted the best and the brightest from America’s top law schools, the firm tried to make sure they kept them. For the summer associates who were still choosing between competing firms, the evening at sea was the ultimate hard sell.

  All eighteen summer associates had gone on to yearlong judicial clerkships after they graduated from law school. The firm expected its associates to clerk for a year, knowing that they would gain invaluable experience that could be used when they eventually joined the firm. And to make sure the recruits did not forget Wayne & Portnoy during their clerkship year, the firm made bimonthly phone calls to each would-be associate to see how his or her year was going. Eventually, seventeen clerks returned to the firm. Ben went to the Supreme Court. When the firm found out their eighteenth summer associate had been offered a Supreme Court clerkship, the phone calls tripled and the free lunches began. To the city’s most prestigious law firms, Supreme Court clerks were human badges of honor. Of Wayne & Portnoy’s four hundred fifty-seven lawyers, ten were former Supreme Court clerks. Today, Adrian Alcott was hoping to make it eleven.

  “Hello, Mr. Addison,” Alcott said with a warm smile as Ben approached the table in one of the back rooms of the restaurant. “Please, join us.” Alcott was tall and slender, and his long frame was capped by thick blond hair. With a smile that he flashed at every opportunity, Alcott was the firm’s best recruiting tool. He loved Wayne & Portnoy, and his gracious and charming nature had convinced more than one quarter of the firm that they loved it, too. “Ben, this is Christopher Nash. He was a clerk for Justice Blake four years ago, and I thought it’d be nice for you to speak to someone who’s been through the process.”