Page 2 of Ghostly
Wynona playfully smacked him with the tie. “If you’re all done with your routine, I need to get dressed.Lessprovocatively.” She sauntered to the bathroom, picking up a discarded dress on the way. “Coffee’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows covered almost the entire open-plan apartment. Gabriel crossed the long shadows the early morning sun painted on the polished Brazilian Walnut floor and stopped to enjoy the view. The sky was clear, and a strip of golden-orange light remained from the sunrise, bright against the dark outlines of the skyscrapers. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
“Happy Winning Day,” he murmured to himself.
Seventy-three hours to go
In front of the courthouse, Gabriel checked his reflection in the glass pane. His coat hid the jacket and somewhat scandalous tie; together with a slim briefcase, it created a stock-image-perfect look of a lawyer. Not just a lawyer—almost partner. Gabriel had done amazing work in the past few years, and his bosses had hinted he only needed to close this case and they’d draw up the promotion papers. Ernest, Cliffordand Vane. Or maybe, Ernest,Vaneand Clifford. Gabriel smiled at his reflection. Sounded good, indeed.
“Hey, Vane.” One of his colleagues bounded down the stairs.
“Morning, Baumann.”
Baumann pointed at the tie, peeking out of the coat, and laughed his typical deep laugh. “Closing today?”
Gabriel did a half-turn and headed up the stairs backward, raising the briefcase at Baumann. “Winning!”
A news van pulled up, and a reporter jumped out. Early—the hearing wouldn’t begin for another half hour. But Gabriel couldn’t blame them. Today would be a quick closing, and afterward, he and his client would be ready to celebrate their victory for the media. He waited until he caught the reporter’s eye, winked at him, and went inside.
He unbuttoned his coat while he rushed down the marble-floored hallway, greeting people as they passed. The clerks—Paul, Kat, Gordie—Linda, the interpreter—Martha from IT—the new girl in the cafeteria who made the sharpest espresso… Gabriel smiled and waved and quipped, and in the brisk rhythm of his steps repeated the two words to himself:win-ning-day, win-ning-day, win—
Ollie, his paralegal, stood in front of the shut door to the courtroom, tapping his foot. Ollie always tapped his foot, but not at a rate of more than two taps per second, unless he was nervous. Three taps was bad. And, perhaps worse: the tapping stopped when he spotted Gabriel.
“Mr. Vane, thank god you’re here. Mr. Anderson and his team are already inside with the judge.”
He wasn’t late, was he? Gabriel checked his wristwatch—no, he was on time, as always.
“Had new evidence to submit—”
Gabriel snapped up. “Anderson is submitting new evidence?”
Ollie pushed his glasses up his nose and clutched an overstuffed folder closer to his chest. “Y-yes?”
“He’s got no business doing that. We should’ve been informed. We haven’t—”
“No, sir, nobody called us.”
Damn Anderson. Was he trying to ambush him? “I’ll take care of it. You wait here.”
“But, sir—”
Gabriel pushed open the door to the courtroom. The slimy bastard was there, along with his client, Mr. Sinclair, and his legal team, all in matching navy blue suits, silver ties, and black shoes. Anderson and his minions even parted their hair on the same side, like they’d never outgrown a high school clique.
He strolled toward the judge’s bench. “Good morning, Your Honor. Anderson.” He issued a curt nod to his rival and a polite smile to the judge. “May I ask what this is all about? Anderson, I believe the window for discovery closed about, oh”—he glanced at his watch—“thirteen days ago?”
“This isn’t about the case, per se.” Anderson leaned on his bench with a smug smirk. Behind him, Sinclair stared at Gabriel with lowered eyebrows and an intense gaze, too much even for a man who was just about to have his prenup declared invalid. Being upset was one thing, but Sinclair looked like he was about to murder him.
“Or, in a way, it is.” Anderson toyed with a thick yellow envelope on the bench and finally handed it to Gabriel. “Only the evidence doesn’t pertain to my client, but to you.”
A stack of photographs slipped into Gabriel’s palm. Slightly blurry, taken from a great distance, but clear enough to show a dark-haired man and woman, going into a building, then inside, in front of the window, locked in an embrace, the woman’s hair farther down in each photo as the man sank his fingers in her perfect coiffure…
Gabriel’s hands grew numb, mouth dry. “Those are…”
“Taken by the same P.I. you hired to take pictures of my client cheating on his wife, yes. I thought since he’d done such outstanding work with those, I could use his services.” Anderson didn’t let go of his smirk for a second. “One can see how you’re used to the paparazzi, Vane. The posing… and Mrs. Sinclair, too. An incredibly photogenic woman.”
Sinclair’s chair screeched ominously. Anderson cleared his throat and shuffled a foot away from his client.
The last of his wits came through a haze rapidly clouding Gabriel’s brain. “Your Honor, you cannot allow for this to be presented as a detriment to the case. We’re deciding on the validity—”
