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of a voice, like distant thunder, “It’s too bad we have to put the printer in here, but we’ve really got nowhere else in the suite to put it. Until we can work out a better arrangement,we’ll try to time the printing so it doesn’t disturb you.” His eyes were drawn to Mercedes, who was still on the phone, with her back to him and a finger in her ear.
    She hastily scribbled on a pad and then hung up the phone. Turning around, she breathed a sigh of relief to see that he had left. She looked down at the horrific scrawl of her notes and decided to take a break for tea. Only an hour more and she could leave to pick up Germaine.
    In the kitchen, she found Stuart and Emerson, another young associate, futzing with the coffeemaker, trying to put on a fresh pot. Mercedes refrained from offering to help them, knowing full well what would happen if she did.
    Emerson said enthusiastically, “Maybe Jack Soutane can help us sort out the First Interstate Bank matter. Darrel says we should pick his brain. He does a lot of transactional work and might be able to make better sense of the contract.” He caught sight of Mercedes pouring hot water into her teacup.
    “It’s worth a shot.” Stuart replied with a wide smile. “We learned the hard way what he’s capable of, and he’s a captive audience now.”
    Emerson’s eyes remained on Mercedes until she looked up and acknowledged them. She wondered who the captive audience really was.

CHAPTER SIX
October 1984
RAND TAYLOR
    M ercedes wrote quickly, barely keeping up with Darrel’s fountain of ideas. They sat in his office on a stormy October morning. Rain mixed with sleet pelted the windows. Darrel sat back with his legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankles on the corner of the desk away from Mercedes. His fingertips formed a tent beneath his bearded chin while he instructed her. His wide brow and angular face were those of a thoughtful, smart man.
    Stuart appeared in the doorway, his dark hair slicked back. He waited for Darrel to look up before speaking.
    “Jack says he and Mr. Taylor can meet us at one o’clock,” he announced.
    “Okay, let’s do it.”
    After Stuart left, Darrel said, “I’d like you to join us, too. Jack’s bringing in a new litigation matter, and he’s going out of the country soon for several weeks, so it’ll be a working lunch. The new client will be with him. I want us all to hear his story simultaneously.” Rainslammed against the window in a burst of wind. “Weather notwithstanding.”
    Her stomach tightened in a knot. “I hope we’re not walking too far because my raincoat isn’t up to this.” Her raincoat was a sorry threadbare affair that should long ago have been replaced.
    “I’ll drive and I promise you will not get wet,” he said kindly, smiling at her naïveté.
    “Then I’d love to go,” she forced herself to say.
    Darrel drove his Jaguar with Mercedes and Emerson in the back and Stuart in front. As he navigated through the torrential weather, he shared what he knew of the case, a possible wrongful termination matter against a major hotel chain. Emerson leaned forward in the backseat, glancing at the back of Stuart’s head and listening intently. Mercedes passively took in Darrel’s account as she looked out the window at tall trees whipping violently and electrical power lines swinging with the force of the gale.
    It was the first time she’d been in Darrel’s car. Plush white leather seats caressed her back. She pictured the four of them driving in the blue Beetle with her at the wheel, the clutch slipping periodically, the windshield seal leaking, and a fetid odor rising from the floor. She amused herself with the thought of the fastidious Emerson being gradually soaked as he sat crammed into the Beetle’s impossible backseat next to Stuart.
    Darrel turned left into the driveway of an immense white stone building with Doric columns supporting a domed roof. A valet took the car as Mercedes followed the men