Russell Reeves held his hands out.
"You're perfect."
"I am?"
"Andy, I send my downtown lawyers into SoCo wearing Armani and acting like assholes, the locals will shut us down before we get started. It'd be a disaster."
He was right.
"Mr. Reeves, how'd you get my name?"
"My secretary, Doris Sullivan. You handled her traffic ticket."
"I called her this morning."
"I overheard. I've been thinking how to handle this, so when she mentioned you, I checked you out and liked what I learned."
"You did?"
"Look, Andy, you didn't graduate at the top of your class, we both know that. And I wouldn't hire you to handle an IPO, but you're the right man for this job. How much do you charge?"
"Well, uh …"
Andy hadn't had an hourly fee client in his entire career.
"… how about for—"
"Four hundred? My downtown lawyers charge twice that." Reeves waved a hand in the air. "But then, you don't have their overhead. All right, four hundred dollars an hour it is."
Four hundred dollars an hour? Andy was going to say forty. His pulse ratcheted up while his mind raced through the financial implications of billing four hundred dollars an hour: one billable hour would cover his office rent for two months, two billable hours his house rent and utilities, and another his entire month's living expenses, three billable hours a date with Suzie … and twenty billable hours—My God, that would buy a Stumpjumper!
"So, Andy, do you want to be my lawyer or not?"
Andy's mind was playing a video of himself hammering the Hill of Life on a Stumpjumper, shredding the trails, carving the corners, bombing the descent …
"Andy?"
Andy blinked hard and returned to the moment. He focused on the billionaire sitting across from him—on the answer to all his dreams.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Reeves. I do want to be your lawyer."
"Excellent. First purchase is the old grocery store site this side of Oltorf."
"They've been asking five million. We've stopped two office buildings from going in there."
"They're taking four, and we're going to build two hundred low-income town homes. The purchase is contingent upon the residents approving the redevelopment plan. That's your job. You get them on board and the deal closed. My downtown lawyers will provide the contracts and handle all the title matters. We've identified a dozen more properties. You'll be a busy lawyer, Andy. I hope you've got a lot of free time."
"I'll juggle my schedule."
"Good."
Russell Reeves stood and held out a business card.
"My numbers. Call me on my cell phone anytime."
Reeves' business card was fancy with embossed lettering. Andy's was not. He had made his cards on Ramon's computer. He handed one to Reeves.
"That's my cell phone."
As if he had another phone.
"Welcome aboard, Andy."
They shook hands again, then Reeves reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Andy.
"This should cover the first week."
Russell Reeves walked to the door then turned back.
"But get a haircut, okay?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Reeves."
He disappeared down the stairs. Andy stepped to the window and saw Russell Reeves emerge on the sidewalk below and walk over to a waiting limousine, which was double-parked. A cop had stopped and was standing next to a big bald white dude in a black suit and sunglasses; the cop was writing a ticket. He looked up when Reeves arrived. The cop's body language suddenly changed; he now appeared to be apologizing. He shut his ticket book. He smiled and shook Reeves' hand. Then he left the scene.
The big dude opened the back door for Reeves, then got into the driver's seat. The limo drove off. Andy sat down, opened the envelope, and removed a cashier's check made payable to "Andrew Paul Prescott." For $10,000.
Ten thousand dollars.
Andy was suddenly overwhelmed with excitement … and a foul smell that could only mean one thing. He glanced down at Max, who was looking sheepish.
"You had a bean burrito at Güero's, didn't you?"
The limo was barely out
"You're perfect."
"I am?"
"Andy, I send my downtown lawyers into SoCo wearing Armani and acting like assholes, the locals will shut us down before we get started. It'd be a disaster."
He was right.
"Mr. Reeves, how'd you get my name?"
"My secretary, Doris Sullivan. You handled her traffic ticket."
"I called her this morning."
"I overheard. I've been thinking how to handle this, so when she mentioned you, I checked you out and liked what I learned."
"You did?"
"Look, Andy, you didn't graduate at the top of your class, we both know that. And I wouldn't hire you to handle an IPO, but you're the right man for this job. How much do you charge?"
"Well, uh …"
Andy hadn't had an hourly fee client in his entire career.
"… how about for—"
"Four hundred? My downtown lawyers charge twice that." Reeves waved a hand in the air. "But then, you don't have their overhead. All right, four hundred dollars an hour it is."
Four hundred dollars an hour? Andy was going to say forty. His pulse ratcheted up while his mind raced through the financial implications of billing four hundred dollars an hour: one billable hour would cover his office rent for two months, two billable hours his house rent and utilities, and another his entire month's living expenses, three billable hours a date with Suzie … and twenty billable hours—My God, that would buy a Stumpjumper!
"So, Andy, do you want to be my lawyer or not?"
Andy's mind was playing a video of himself hammering the Hill of Life on a Stumpjumper, shredding the trails, carving the corners, bombing the descent …
"Andy?"
Andy blinked hard and returned to the moment. He focused on the billionaire sitting across from him—on the answer to all his dreams.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Reeves. I do want to be your lawyer."
"Excellent. First purchase is the old grocery store site this side of Oltorf."
"They've been asking five million. We've stopped two office buildings from going in there."
"They're taking four, and we're going to build two hundred low-income town homes. The purchase is contingent upon the residents approving the redevelopment plan. That's your job. You get them on board and the deal closed. My downtown lawyers will provide the contracts and handle all the title matters. We've identified a dozen more properties. You'll be a busy lawyer, Andy. I hope you've got a lot of free time."
"I'll juggle my schedule."
"Good."
Russell Reeves stood and held out a business card.
"My numbers. Call me on my cell phone anytime."
Reeves' business card was fancy with embossed lettering. Andy's was not. He had made his cards on Ramon's computer. He handed one to Reeves.
"That's my cell phone."
As if he had another phone.
"Welcome aboard, Andy."
They shook hands again, then Reeves reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Andy.
"This should cover the first week."
Russell Reeves walked to the door then turned back.
"But get a haircut, okay?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Reeves."
He disappeared down the stairs. Andy stepped to the window and saw Russell Reeves emerge on the sidewalk below and walk over to a waiting limousine, which was double-parked. A cop had stopped and was standing next to a big bald white dude in a black suit and sunglasses; the cop was writing a ticket. He looked up when Reeves arrived. The cop's body language suddenly changed; he now appeared to be apologizing. He shut his ticket book. He smiled and shook Reeves' hand. Then he left the scene.
The big dude opened the back door for Reeves, then got into the driver's seat. The limo drove off. Andy sat down, opened the envelope, and removed a cashier's check made payable to "Andrew Paul Prescott." For $10,000.
Ten thousand dollars.
Andy was suddenly overwhelmed with excitement … and a foul smell that could only mean one thing. He glanced down at Max, who was looking sheepish.
"You had a bean burrito at Güero's, didn't you?"
The limo was barely out
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