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private law firms. With his rise in celebrity—and with every Rising Phoenix conviction—several headhunters had phoned to inquire if he wanted to go back into private practice. Old friends, who’d been ensconced in firms for years, had called out of the blue to ask if David would like to have lunch with the senior partners or stop by for drinks. David had said no. He understood that this chapter of his life was over, but not knowing what would happen with Hulan had put his career in limbo.
    By eleven, David had gone through the easy piles. Now he moved on to the everyday materials that he’d needed during these last months of back-to-back trials. As he began looking at the folders—knowing that they held so many lives that had been lost or ruined—he couldn’t help but be aware of his own dejection.
    Like most lawyers, David often experienced melancholy after the completion of a trial. But this time he was also hounded by a sense of futility. Sure, he’d been successful. The Rising Phoenix had been brought down, but as David had predicted, other triads had filled the vacuum. A couple of months ago, the Sun Yee On had become more active in Southern California. At that time David was deep into trial, so the case had been handled to someone else in this office. More recently the Wah Ching group had been caught with a shipment of heroin coming in from the Golden Triangle. That case had gone to the narcotics unit. The media loved a big drug case, and attention had finally shifted from David’s work. The baton, so to speak, had been passed.
    After the favorable conclusion of a big case, an assistant U.S. attorney was expected to parlay that triumph into a lucrative job in the private sector. The calls from the headhunters only verified for David that it was time to move on and that there were opportunities out there. At the same time, his name was being bandied about for U.S. attorney. If he believed the newspapers, his appointment and confirmation were assured. The current U.S. attorney, Madeleine Prentice, was behind him too. She’d been encouraging him to throw his name into the hat ever since her nomination to the federal bench. Madeleine’s was a path that David had once aspired to, but he no longer desired it. True, he no longer trusted his own government, but it was more personal than that: he wanted to be with Hulan, to be with her when she gave birth to their child, to live together as a family.
    So he had come back to thoughts of Hulan. Hours had passed since her call, and he was still worried about her. David hadn’t been completely forthright with Hulan this morning, and it bothered him now. He knew how he could get information about Knight International, but he hadn’t mentioned it. Recent press coverage had focused on speculation that the company was about to be bought by mega-toy company Tartan International. His old law firm, Phillips, MacKenzie & Stout, had long done Tartan’s legal work. Tartan, a major client, paid millions of dollars in legal fees each year. As name partner and firm rainmaker, it was expected that Miles Stout would keep a close guard on his best client, and he had. He had managed the acquisition of several smaller companies by the conglomerate and had served as Tartan’s spokesman for many years. Additionally, he represented Randall Craig, the chairman of Tartan. But when it came to the actual grunt work for the company—licensing deals, handling esoteric copyright-infringement violations, or performing due diligence during contract negotiations—Miles passed most of it on to junior partners and a flock of associates.
    When David had been at the firm, he’d been friendly with Keith Baxter, one of the young attorneys who’d been corraled by Miles into the Tartan work. David reached for his Rolodex, found the number for Keith’s private line, and put through a call. After a couple of minutes, David and Keith had made arrangements to meet at the Water Grill on Grand Avenue for