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something.”
    Judge Carter was blackmailing him and there was nothing he could do about it. What had been her problem when she walked in the door had swiftly morphed from a shared burden to his problem. He came around from his side of the desk.
    “I’ll need your file on the arbitration.”
    Judge Carter opened her purse and handed Mason a flash drive. “The attorneys scanned everything onto this drive. It’s all there—exhibits, testimony, everything.” She didn’t shake his hand, thank him, or wish him luck.
    He stood in the center of his office, watching as she walked briskly down the hall without a backward glance, past Blues’s empty office and down the back stair that led to the parking lot at the rear of the building. He palmed the flash drive, knowing at last what it was like to hold his life in his hands.

TEN
    Mason spent the day reading the arbitration file. Carol Hill signed an agreement when she was hired to submit any claims against Galaxy Gaming to binding arbitration. That was okay with her. She needed the job and couldn’t imagine having to file a claim anyway.
    The process was private, quick, and cheap when compared to the courts. Employers liked it because there was no jury that might have either the good sense or bad judgment to sock them with a bell-ringing verdict.
    Her case was a garden-variety story of sexual harassment. Charles Rockley, her supervisor, had hit on her until it hurt. When he wouldn’t stop and her complaints to management were ignored, she sued.
    Rockley started with compliments about her appearance, for which she thanked him just to be polite, even though his remarks made her nervous. He was her boss and she didn’t want to offend him. It wasn’t long before he escalated to suggestions that she wear tighter, low-cut tops to show off her shape to the customers. She demurred, reminding him that the casino provided modest uniforms for dealers, buttoned to the chin, saving the cleavage outfits for the cocktail waitresses. Rockley had laughed, explaining that he was just imagining how she would look for him.
    Next he began asking her out. Just drinks after her shift, he told her. Then it was how about a late dinner, maybe a weekend getaway if she was interested. Each time she declined, explaining that she wasn’t interested and, besides, her husband wouldn’t like it.
    Rockley kept at her, finally summoning her to his office one night after she finished dealing, telling her it was time for her to meet the meat. She was afraid she’d lose her job and gave in to him. Afterwards, consumed by guilt, she told him never again. He gave her a bad performance review and put her on probation.
    That was Carol Hill’s story as summed up by her lawyer, Vince Bongiovanni, in his closing argument. Mason knew him by reputation. He was the hotshot plaintiff’s lawyer of the month, knocking off companies for big bucks when their employees played grab-ass with the wrong person. Each victory attracted a new wave of clients. No human resources manager looked forward to an invitation to one of Bongiovanni’s courtroom parties.
    Galaxy Gaming’s lawyer was Lari Prillman. Employers liked being represented by a woman lawyer in sexual harassment cases because of the not-so-subtle message they hoped it would send. Some of our best friends are women. We even hire them as lawyers. Besides, if we were the creeps the plaintiff says we are, no self-respecting woman—not even a lawyer—would defend us.
    Lari Prillman had taken advantage of that misplaced wisdom for twenty-five years, building a successful boutique practice devoted to the defense against claims made by the Carol Hills of the world. She parlayed her own good looks and charm in a male-dominated world, happily taking every advantage, God-given or otherwise. Though she could defend these cases in her sleep, she didn’t, taking nothing for granted and screwing down every fact and inconsistency. She lived by the Al Davis rule—just win,