“No, that’s normal.” Glancing through the folder on her desk and quickly scanning her computer, she trusted the file. “Especially in these cases.” A porcelain mug filled to the rim with cold coffee sat next to the computer, the closest thing she had to drink. “Mhmm,” she said into the phone, gulping down the cold beverage. Her face recoiled at the coldness of it, recognizing in a flash that she, Raquel Sanderson, hated cold coffee. “So what happens now is we take it back to Judge Crocker and let him/her decide after we show her these new texts in open court.” She flipped through a few more files on the desk, settling on the one she was looking for, nodding while listening to her client. “I have the copy of the transcript in my hand, Angela. A hard copy trumps metadata.” Raquel pushed her glasses up on her nose, scanning the desk for more pertinent data. “Just because I know her? No, I can’t be removed from your case; you are my client. And she cannot remove herself from the case because we knew each other in law school.” Judge Madeleine Crocker was appointed two years earlier by California Governor Jerry Brown. Not only did Brown advance her career, but it also bolstered her confidence in reviewing statutes, something she regarded highly. Raquel knew this after having her as a tutor. “Angela. We will win. Yes. I’ll see you there. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, still holding the transcript of the texts back and forth between Angela and her former employer, GMI, she scanned the desk one last time, hearing the jingling of keys. Opening the door was her assistant, Geri.

“Oh, good Lord!” Geri cried. “Raquel, you scared the holy bejesus out of me. Don’t do that!”

“Uh, it’s my office, Geri.” Raquel shook her head. “You’re late. I needed this,” she shook the transcript at her personal assistant and secretary, “and I almost didn’t find it in time for my nervous nelly client. That could’ve been really bad.”

Geri had a stack of files in her left hand, a Michael Kors patchwork bag slung over her left shoulder, and a small roller bag pulled behind her in her right hand. Raquel guessed she had let go of the roller bag long enough to open the door, considering she had half an apricot Danish in her mouth. When Raquel scared her, Geri spit out the last bite on the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry. Traffic was horrible on the 405 today. Three accidents before I made it two miles! It was ridiculous.” She handed Raquel the precariously stacked files. “These are the Giles, Travalani, and Danca files. As you requested, all the research is in there, and I double-checked your billing hours for Travalani. You were off by fourteen hours, so I added it to your billing. I sent you an email with the adjustments made to their billing, and it’s ready for your review and signature.”

Raquel, dumbfounded, stared at Geri. “And you are late because of the 405?” Raquel pointed at the roller bag. “What’s in there?” She didn’t want to know, but curiosity was getting the best of her, mainly because Geri was late. Geri was rarely late.

“That’s the rest of the James Patterson files. You asked me to organize them a few weeks ago. I found time to do it while I was watching Dateline.”

“I take it I’m getting billed for those hours?” Raquel pointed at the roller bag.

“So you don’t want the Patterson files organized? With your caseload and billable hours, I figured you could afford to pay me a little overtime. Forgiveness, not permission, right?” Geri winked at Raquel.

Raquel shook her head, a smile spreading slowly across her lips. “Next time, let’s talk about it first.”
Geri smiled back at Raquel. “Uh, do you want your desk organized?” Files were strewn all over, a few half-drank cups of coffee, some in Starbucks cups, others unlabeled from various coffee shops over Newport Beach. There was trash from a few Nutrigrain bars, a white chocolate macadamia Cliff bar, a Subway sandwich wrapper, and an empty bag of Sunchips. “Have you been working all night?”

“No, Geri,” Raquel answered, ushering her out of the office. “I got here at 3 and just got off the phone with Angela Prescott.”

Geri rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I tried to tell you that girl was a hot mess.”

“Maybe. But that case will pay our bills for a while,” Raquel pointed to Geri’s roller bag, “and, of course, your overtime, too.”

Geri grabbed the roller bag and wheeled it to her desk inside the main entrance. The front desk was designed for a receptionist, but Raquel’s client list was short. She only needed one paralegal and secretary. Geri did both better than the last two younger college-aged women Raquel hired a few years ago. Then again, Geri was in her late fifties and three years retired from her position as a senior law clerk for a superior court judge in Northern California. Geri loved the legal profession but had zero desire to get a law degree, much less try to pass the bar at fifty-eight. Her husband, a pipefitting welder, died in a freak accident at the Alameda shipyards twelve years ago. The union settled out of court, and her husband’s pension, social security benefits, and military retirement pay more than adequately covered her living expenses. And she tried traveling, seeing the world, and doing the whole ‘retirement’ thing. But it wasn’t as fulfilling as reading, reviewing, and filing legal information and helping the various clients of her attorney. In this case, it was Raquel that she was helping. Again, the paycheck was nice, but she garnered more from the work than the check.

Raquel stood in front of the full-length mirror on the backside of the front door, checking to see how she looked. One thing that mattered to all judges was proper appearance. And the majority of those ruling in her cases were men. So, like it or not, she needed to look the part, be professional, and not come in like some of her colleagues. “I have court in two hours,” she glanced at her watch; 9:06 a.m. Her first case was at 11 a.m. in Judge Mahoney’s courtroom. “I cannot be late.” She looked back at Geri. “How do I look?”

Geri eyed her up and down. “You need more lipstick, and your eyeshadow needs a brushup. Do you want my help?”

And this is why Raquel never hired a man into Geri’s position. He wouldn’t understand or know how to help with makeup or how to be brutally honest with her. “Yes, please.”

Two minutes later, Geri made her turn around and look in the mirror. “See? That’s all you need. Now you are ready for Judge Mahoney.”

On the edge of Geri’s desk was a tan portfolio Raquel had taken to court with her. On top of the portfolio was the transcript for Angela’s case and a few notes for the two cases she had to defend this morning. “Thank you, Geri, for organizing the Patterson files. Have you heard anything from him?”

“No. The last time I spoke to Mr. Patterson or reached him? It was,” she flipped back through the desk calendar to February. Unlike other office workers, Geri kept her desk calendar intact, using it to track when and what time she spoke to various clients. It helped track down the last time clients were contacted. “February 19, at,” she squinted at the scribblings on the calendar. Geri took notes so quickly that even she struggled to read them, “looks like 11:34 a.m.”

“Well, keep trying him. Judge Halibrough said he’s giving us until the end of the month before he puts the entire estate up for auction.”

Geri nodded her head. “I understand. I’m going to reach out to my friends up North. Maybe they can help.”

“Let me know if you hear anything,” Raquel said. She walked back to her office portfolio in hand, grabbed her sunglasses and purse, and waving at Geri.