to the woman’s credit, she kept her gaze on Emma’s face and not her attire. One cool cookie, this blonde.
Emma extended her hand to the now standing woman. “Hello. I’m Emma Sinclair.”
“Good morning. I’m Penny Hennings. I’m an attorney from Hennings and Solomon. I’m sorry to barge in, but I saw the story on your brother this morning.”
Emma glanced at her mother, took in her cloudy, drooping brown eyes and flat mouth. A heavy heart had stolen her mother’s joy. Ten years ago, at the age of forty, the woman had been widowed and learned that hope could be a fickle thing. Emma, though, couldn’t give in to that defeatist thinking. There was a reason she’d been left fatherless at sixteen and now, with her brother in prison, had assumed the role her father would want her to take. To watch over Mom and free Brian.
Some would say she didn’t deserve all this loss. Why not? It turned out their family had crummy luck. Her father’s sudden death from a brain aneurysm had left a void so deep she’d never really acknowledged it for fear that she’d be consumed by it and would cease experiencing the joy the world offered. Ignoring that vast hole inside her seemed easier.
Then Brian went to prison—more crummy luck—and the hole inside grew. The thing she held on to day after day, the thing that kept her focused and sane and standing, was the fight to free her brother.
Whatever it took, she’d find a way to put their family back together.
“Ms. Sinclair?”
Make this happen. “Forgive me. I’m...well, I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but you’re the first attorney to contact me in eighteen months and I’m really, really happy to see you.”
Penny offered a wide smile and instantly Emma’s pulse settled. “Please, have a seat. Would you like coffee?”
“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I spoke to my father—Gerald Hennings—on the way over. He indicated that you’d contacted him about this case some months back.”
Emma sat on the love seat and rested her hand over her mother’s. Maybe they’d finally get the break they deserved. “Yes. He was kind enough to review the case, but said there was nothing he could do.”
“At the time, that was true, but I’m intrigued by this video you’ve obtained. If the video is accurate, we might be able to prove that your brother’s constitutional rights were violated. Any information regarding witness testimony should have been turned over to the defense before trial.”
“It’s Giglio material, right?” Emma asked.
Penny cocked her head. “You’ve brushed up.”
“Yes. I’m also a first-year law student at Northwestern. I left a job at a public relations firm so I’d be available during the day to work on my brother’s case. With the hands-on experience, I figured I might as well go to law school. I waitress at night and work my classes in around everything else.”
“Wow. You’re good.”
Emma shrugged. “Not really. My brother is innocent and he’s slated to spend the next twenty-five years in prison. I can’t let that happen.”
Penny’s expression remained neutral, her lips free of any tightening or forced smiles. No pity. Good. They didn’t need pity. They needed a shrewd legal rainmaker.
“That’s why I’m here. I’d like to review the information you’ve collected and possibly take your case. Pro bono. I’m not going to lie: this will be tough. The victim’s father is a Chicago P.D. detective. The State’s Attorney will go to war with us to keep your brother in prison, but I won’t back down. If Brian’s rights were violated, I’ll prove it. Besides that, I’m hungry for a big case and I think yours might just be the one.”
Suddenly, Penny Hennings seemed young. Idealistic maybe. Not the battle-hardened defense attorney her father was. Did it matter? Her wanting to step out from under her father’s shadow and make a name for herself was a great motivator.
She’s a rainmaker, smart and determined.
Emma gestured down the hall to the basement door. “Would you like to see what I have on the case?”
Penny smiled. “You bet I would.”
* * *
ZAC PUSHED HIS ROLLING cart stuffed with case files from the courtroom to his fifth-floor office. Along the way he passed other prosecutors dragging their own heavy loads and their stone faces or smirking, sly grins told the tales of their wins and losses.
Zac’s day had consisted of jury selection for a murder trial he was scheduled to prosecute. The pool of candidates wasn’t ideal, but his evidence was strong and he’d parlay that into a win.
He nudged the cart through his doorway and turned back to the bull pen for Four O’clock Fun. On most days, prosecutors coming from court gathered to compare notes, discuss the personalities of judges and opposing lawyers, anything that might be good information for one of the other ASAs. Some days, Four O’clock Fun turned into a stream of stories that would scandalize the average person, but that prosecutors found humorous. For Zac, gallows humor was a form of self-protection. A way to keep his sanity in the face of the day-to-day evil he grappled with.
“Zac,” Stew Henry yelled, “Pierson got his butt kicked by Judge Alred today.”
“Seriously?”
Alred had to be the easiest-going guy on the bench. It took a lot to aggravate him. Two steps toward the bull pen, Zac’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen. Alex Belson, the public defender on the Sinclair case, returning his call.
“Have to take this,” Zac yelled to the bull pen before heading back to his office. “Alex, hey, thanks for getting back to me.”
“No prob. Got to say, screwy timing since your sister called me today, too.”
“My sister?”
What’s that about?
“Yeah. She’s taking the Sinclair case. Wants copies of all my notes.”
Zac dropped into his chair to absorb this info.
“You didn’t know?” Alex asked.
Penny had left a voice mail earlier in the day, but he’d been in court and hadn’t had a chance to get back to her. “I haven’t talked to her today.”
Another call beeped in and Zac checked the screen. Penny. “Alex, let me call you back.” He flashed over to his sister. “Pen?”
The sound of a horn blasted. Outdoors.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you in your office?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m walking into the lobby. Be there in two minutes.”
She was here. “What’s this about your taking the Sinclair case?”
“Word travels fast. How’d you know?”
“The PD told me. Pen, I caught this case.”
Silence. Yeah, little sister, soak that up. If this case went forward, Zac would be battling his baby sister in court. At twenty-nine, only two years his junior, she was equally competitive when it came to winning her cases. Plus, she had their legendary father as co-counsel.
In short, it would be a bloodbath.
Unfortunately for his sister, Zac planned on winning and giving Dave Moore justice for his daughter.
“So,” Pen said, “I guess my calling you to find out who Ray assigned proved fruitful.”
“You don’t want this case. It’s a dog.”
“Not a chance, big brother. See you in a minute.”
Zac hung up and stared through the open doorway where raucous laughter from Four