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wouldn’t get caught?
Even the street thugs Finn once represented as a public defender would have laughed at the man’s idiocy.
    Ah well, Finn sighed. This was what he’d signed up for when he came to play in the big leagues. Regular folks couldn’t afford the fees that generated his salary. Not even the innocent ones—particularly not the innocent ones. Only the fabulously wealthy could afford to break the law, secure in the knowledge that the brilliant legal minds at Howery, Black & Longbothum, PC, would work tirelessly to protect them from any hint of justice.
    And Finn and his colleagues would probably get Miller off in the end. They’d cut a deal with the Securities and Exchange Commission and the feds, and their guy would walk with a fine and a slap on the wrist. Afterward, the partners would marvel at Finn’s brilliance as they lunched at Hamersley’s or Locke-Ober, and Finn’s salary would continue to grow. As hard as it was to stomach, he knew there were worse ways to make a living.
    The buzzer on his phone brought him out of his trance. He hit the intercom button. “What is it, Nancy?”
    “There are two people out here who want to talk to you.” His secretary lowered her voice to a whisper. “They have badges,” she said quietly.
    “Badges?”
    “Yes.”
    “What do they want?”
    “All they’ll tell me is that they want to speak with you.”
    “All right, you can bring them in, but buzz me in five minutes and pretend you’re reminding me about a meeting.”
    Badges. For a moment, Finn considered the possibility that the folks from the SEC were ready to pitch a settlement in the Miller case, but he was on good terms with Sarah Golden, the lead prosecutor, and she would have called to set up a meeting.
    As a lawyer, he shouldn’t have been bothered by badges. He certainly had dealt with the police all the time when he was in the Public Defender’s office, and he should have gotten over his fear of the law. But badges still reminded him of some of the darker moments of his youth, before he gained control of his life. He took a deep breath and straightened his tie as Nancy brought the two badges in.
    Finn’s first reaction was one of shock. The woman who followed Nancy through the door was stunning. She had shoulder-length dark hair, brushed back neatly in a simple but stylish manner, and the face and figure of a model. It made him reevaluate his notion of what it meant to be one of Boston’s Finest. For just a moment he let himself believe this might be a pleasant experience.
    Then he noticed the Neanderthal behind her. He was much more typical, Finn thought grimly. He was shorter than Finn, but much thicker—particularly through the shoulders and chest. Finn estimated him to be at least ten years older, but suspected that it had been a hard decade—the kind that produces a particularly hard man. The man gave the impression of being someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.
    “Mr. Finn?” Detective Flaherty said. She was smiling, but her voice contained a strange lilt that sounded almost like sympathy. It unnerved Finn. “My name is Lieutenant Linda Flaherty with the Boston Police Department. This is my partner, Detective Tom Kozlowski. We’d like to take a moment of your time, if that’s all right?”
    “Yes. Please, sit down.” Finn gestured toward the two small wooden armchairs that were crammed together in the tiny space opposite his desk. They were nondescript, functional units mass-produced for hundreds of thousands of similar small offices around the country. Still an associate, Finn was rarely called on to host clients in his office, so only the bare necessities were provided. Flaherty took the chair closest to the wall. The hulk she was with squeezed himself into the chair next to the door. He looked almost comical, and the absurdity made Finn feel more at ease.
    “What can I do for you?” he asked, smiling at the brunette.
    “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” she