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Robert Whitlow is the bestselling author of legal novels set in the South and winner of the Christy Award for Contemporary Fiction. He received his JD with honors from the University of Georgia School of Law where he served on the staff of the Georgia Law Review. Website: robertwhitlow.com; X: @whitlowwriter; Facebook: @robertwhitlowbooks.

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water's Edge

Thomas Nelson

Chapter One

The phone on Tom's desk buzzed. He picked it up.

"Arthur Pelham from Pelham Financial is on line 802," the receptionist said. "Do you want to take the call?"

"Yes, put him through."

"Good afternoon, Tom."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Pelham," Tom replied in his best professional voice.

"It's time you started calling me Arthur," the sixty-year-old investment adviser replied. "I was Mr. Pelham when you and Rick were playing on the same Little League baseball team in Bethel. You've been earning a paycheck long enough to use my first name."

"I'm not sure I can do that," Tom answered, relaxing. "Would it be okay if I called you Sir Arthur?"

"As long as you stay away from King Arthur." The older man laughed. "I heard too much of that when I was in grade school and someone wanted to pick a fight with me. Listen, I know you must be busy, but do you have a few minutes? It goes back to our conversation at the cemetery after your father's funeral."

"Sure."

"We had a board meeting in New York yesterday, and I brought up the possibility of hiring your law firm to handle some of our litigation load. Most of our clients are happy with our services, but there are always a few bad apples who get upset and file lawsuits for all the crazy reasons you're familiar with."

Tom sat up straighter in his chair. Landing a client like Pelham Financial with offices in New York, Boston, Los Angeles, and Washington, DC, would be the most significant event of his legal career. It would cement his rise to partnership status and give him instant influence at the highest levels of the firm.

"That would be outstanding," Tom said, trying to contain his excitement. "Would I be the primary contact person for your firm?"

"Yes, you're the man I trust. Lance Snyder, our general counsel, wasn't at the meeting yesterday, and I want to get his input before making a final decision. Until that happens and I get back to you, I'd ask you to keep this conversation confidential."

"Of course."

"Excellent. I'll be in touch with you by the first of next week." Arthur paused. "How are you doing personally?"

"Okay. I have to make a trip to Bethel soon to shut down my father's practice. Bernice Lawson is contacting his clients, but there are things only I can do. The trick is finding the time to work it into my schedule."

"You're not too busy to take on more business, are you?"

"No, no," Tom answered quickly. "And if I have the opportunity to represent Pelham Financial, it will become my top priority."

"That's what I like to hear. Every client believes his files are the most important matters on his lawyer's desk."

"With you, that will be true."

"Excellent. I hoped this would be a good time to bring this up with you."

"Yes, sir. It couldn't be better."

The call ended. Stunned, Tom sat at his desk and gazed out the window. Stone Mountain never came into focus. Future potential always outshines faded glory.

* * *

The following morning Tom and Mark Nelson, another senior associate in the securities litigation group, were in a small conference room down the hall from Tom's office. Spread before them were documents delivered the previous evening from a regional stock brokerage firm that had been sued by a small group of disgruntled investors who lost several million dollars in a corporate bond fund.

"What are we missing?" the dark-haired Mark asked. "Each of the plaintiffs signed comprehensive acknowledgment and disclosure documents. They knew the risks before they invested a dime."

The two lawyers worked in silence for several minutes. Tom laid out a complete set of the disclosure forms so that the signature pages were side by side, then carefully inspected them.

"Take a look at this," Tom said to Mark. "The handwriting for the signatures is similar, even though the names are different."

He slid the documents across the table to Mark, who held them up in front of his face.

"Maybe."

"Particularly the m, p, t, and w," Tom continued. "And one is from a man, the other a woman."

"So?"

"Yet both are written in a feminine style."

Mark leaned over for a closer look. "The originating broker on both accounts is a woman, Misty Kaiser. If you're claiming she forged both signatures, it doesn't fit the gender and makes you a chauvinist."

"Unless Ms. Kaiser is like the girl you dated last year who took you on a ten-mile hike and had to stop and wait for you to catch up every fifteen minutes."

"It was every thirty minutes, and I've got the right girl now," Mark replied, tossing a crumpled piece of paper at Tom's head. "Megan may not be as flashy as Clarice, but she's not texting me in the middle of important meetings demanding that I pick up her dry cleaning and stop for Chinese takeout on the way home."

"What about the signatures?" Tom persisted.

Mark shrugged. "I have to admit the handwriting is similar. Should we get an expert to take a look at them?"

"Maybe. But first let's find out if Kaiser is still with the company. I don't want to bring up something this inflammatory based on a random suspicion."

"I'll call Sam Robinson, the human resources director," Mark said. "He'll also know whether there are complaints on file from any of her other clients."

Tom looked at his watch. "Why don't we circle back this afternoon? I have a meeting with McGraw in a few minutes."

Mark sat up straighter. "Are you going to talk to him about a partnership?"

"That's for him to bring up, not me," Tom answered evenly. "You know McGraw. His agenda will be my agenda. I scheduled this meeting to ask for time off so I can close down my father's practice in Bethel."

"Okay, but just to let you know, I'm putting my name in for a promotion," Mark said.

"I wouldn't expect anything else. I'm going to let them know I'm interested too."

"What are you going to say if they ask us to critique each other?"

With the conversation with Arthur Pelham in his pocket, Tom knew the time would soon be right to broach the partnership issue with McGraw; however, he didn't want to hurt Mark.

"Becoming a partner isn't about cutting you down," Tom replied. "I'm going to make my case, not criticize you."

Mark took a deep breath and sighed. "They've been watching both of us for years. Nothing we say now is probably going to make much difference. But you can imagine how stressed out I am. I've been here almost eight years. If I don't make partner soon ..."

Mark didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

* * *

Tom stood in front of the gold-framed mirror in the hallway on the thirty-sixth floor and straightened his tie. Six feet tall with broad shoulders, wavy brown hair, and dark-brown eyes, he was wearing the blue suit he usually reserved for court appearances. Reid McGraw was an old-school lawyer who sneered at...