Page 45 of Gold Rush
Flynn grimaces.
“I know. But none of that means he’s guilty. Just …”
“Not not guilty?”
I nearly smile. “Innocent until, right?”
“You should argue that the search warrant wasn’t supported by probable cause. If the chain of custody on the laptop gets questioned, they don’t have any physical proof connecting him to the robbery.”
“Good idea,” I say.
I’m not entirely surprised Flynn is a competent attorney. I’ve always suspected most of his seeming shallowness was exaggerated. But it’s unexpected that our defense strategy would be so similar. No one else I’ve discussed the case with has mentioned it. Louis suggested I work harder on an alibi.
“You already thought of it.” He sounds very sure, glancing back at his laptop. “Your job sounds more exciting than reviewing insurance policies, commercial leases, supplier agreements, and employment contracts.”
It’s an opening to say what I’ve been wondering since I heard where he was working. I didn’t want to ask him in front of everyone at Bowery Line. “What made you choose Locke, Grey, and Lee?”
“They’re a good firm.”
“I know they’re a good firm. New York has lots of good firms though.”
He adjusts the screen of the laptop. “My dad is friends with Simon Grey. They’re golf buddies.”
Understanding hits. Flynn knows what it’s like for everyone to assume you didn’t earn what you received too. He’s just taken a very different—opposite, basically—approach. I try harder.
“The firm wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t qualified.”
He huffs a laugh. “I know I’m qualified. I picked that firm because I was hoping that Simon might mention so to my father between holes since I go through these random phases when I give a shit about Julian’s opinion.”
A flood of remorse appears. “Flynn, I didn’t mean that I, uh, thought that you—”
“It’s fine, Rory.” He shuts his laptop. “You saw the construction. That’s what everyone thinks, including my dad.”
Flynn is referring to the latest addition to the law school’s campus, funded primarily by a private donation that coincided with our admissions cycle.
“I’ll let you know for sure about this weekend tomorrow,” he adds, grabbing his plate and carrying it over to the dishwasher. “I’m going to the gym.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t acknowledge the quiet reply.
I’m left with a full plate of pasta and an emotion I’ve never felt around Flynn before—regret.
15
“Collins is pregnant.”
I choke on the bite of sandwich I was chewing. “Again?” I question as soon as I’ve swallowed.
Kit claps me on the back, then flips me off with the same hand. “I can’t help it if I’m virile.”
“I’m eating, dude. Don’t say shit like you’re virile.”
Kit lifts one eyebrow, waiting.
“Congratulations,” I add. “Will you survive two kids?”
His son is adorable, but he’s also a handful. Last time I saw Dylan, he threw a chunk of strawberry shortcake in his great-grandparents’ pool during their annual Red, White, and Blue party to celebrate the Fourth. Collins declared it was bedtime shortly thereafter.
