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“I think I do.”
    Kerns leaned back in the sofa and nodded. “Then by all means, fill me in on the details.”
    Russell pulled out one folder and held it up. “The facts in this folder show you to be a highly intelligent man. You were educated at some of the finest schools and have proven yourself over and over in the courtroom. You’re a family man with a wife and children, which always suggests stability to the public, and you are even registered as a member of a prominent Topeka church, implying that you and God are like this.” He intertwined his first two fingers.
    Russell opened the thick folder and leafed through the papers. “You contribute heavily to a variety of well-known charities, as well as to your church. That kind of community involvement looks good to the lower-income families who recognize that they are helped by the good graces of the wealthy. However—”
    “However?” Kerns interrupted, sitting up.
    Russell put the folder down and picked up one of the two accordion files he’d brought. “You’ve made enemies.”
    “Is that all?” Kerns resumed his restful slouch.
    “It’s enough to cause you some real headaches. People aren’t too fond of lawyers these days, and you have a reputation for being quite a cutthroat. You’ve made enemies in public places as well as in private enterprise, and all of them can hurt you if we give them the power.”
    “So we don’t give it that kind of power,” Kerns replied, sounding disinterested.
    “Exactly,” Owens stated. “The real question is how to render the situation powerless before it starts.”
    “That’s why I brought you on board. You’re the boy-genius, so you tell me. What do we do to disarm the public before they decide to run for their guns?”
    “We leave no stone unturned,” Russell answered. “We beat them to the punch, so to speak. It could be handled one of two ways. The first way would be to dissect your career from beginning to present. Look for any potential time bombs. You know, skeletons that won’t stayed buried? Even little problems, real or imaginary, can flare up to cut your campaign to ribbons. For instance”—he pulled a folder from the accordion file—“this case is one you handled five years ago. It involved a chemical spill at Sheldon Industries. Three people were hospitalized with a variety of symptoms, all of which were supposedly related to the spill.”
    “That was proven to be false,” Kerns interjected.
    “Be that as it may, you were quoted as saying, ‘The media has pushed the public into a frenzy of panic. The messages they send out appeal to the less-educated, less-informed general public. I’m not saying that the hospitalized individuals aren’t truly suffering from something, but I would look more to the suggestive powers of the media than I would for an actual physical problem.’ ” Owens put the paper down. “Do you remember the fallout over that article and quote?”
    Kerns grimaced. “I do.”
    “The media followed it for weeks, watching over each individual victim, scanning the area for others.”
    “But there weren’t others,” Kerns replied, narrowing his steely blue eyes. “And the doctors were unable to determine the physical problems of the three.”
    “Because you paid them handsomely to keep their diagnosis in a perpetual state of non-conclusion?” Owens asked matter-of-factly.
    Kerns jumped up from the sofa and stared accusingly at Owens. “Whose side are you on anyway? I did what I had to do for the sake of my client. It wasn’t George Sheldon’s fault that someone was asleep on the job, but George was the one to pay the price. Why not pay that money to people who can get him off the hook rather than pad the pockets of the federal government in fines and cleanups?”
    “I don’t have a problem with the way you handled this, Bob.” Gone was the boyish “yes, sir, no, sir.” In its place, Russell Owens stared straight at his superior, refusing to back down.