Chapter Forty-Eight
“What do you make of that judge’s decision?” Sam asked as he and Diane joined Harper in his large, richly furnished office. Valuable oil paintings adorned the walls, and a palatial, well-organized, desk with rich black leather chairs took up a large portion of the room.
Harper loosened his blood-red tie before heaving himself into his executive black leather chair. He let out a heavy sigh and swiveled to face the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window overlooking the ocean.
Sam was intrigued by Harper; he was a hard man to read. When he was with the DEA, he had hated him. He was a shrewd lawyer with the ability to get off any scumbag who could pay his fee.
Wasn’t it funny? he thought. When the tables are turned and you’re the one on the wrong side of the law, you need
