Don't Ask My Neighbor by Kristofer Clarke Page A

record, and a knack for eating young lawyers alive, he gave me an uncharacteristic congratulatory handshake, handed me a business card, and then instructed me to call him if I ever wanted to be on a winning team. I guess it wasn’t yet apparent to him that I was already on a winning team. Many thought Attorney Lorenzo had many of the judges presiding over the cases he prosecuted or defended in his back pocket, but I knew better. I’ve spectated his courtroom antics, and what he displayed was a testament to his knowledge of law, and his willingness to protect his clients’ constitutional rights—that’s why they hired him. He’s represented clients accused of some of the District’s most heinous crimes. I had no intention of ending my tenure with Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne, but thanks to Samantha, my intention wasn’t her worry.
    Until my reminder popped up on my computer screen, I had forgotten about my 10:30 a.m. appointment at the Corrections Facility in Southeast D.C. I still had a few minutes to kill before making the drive through traffic across town. I began making a not e on a ledger next to my laptop when my door slowly crept open.
    “Do you have a minute?” she asked, and entered without my permission.
    She held two cups of coffee securely in both hands and held a magazine tightly under her right arm. She smiled as she walked closer to my desk. I’ve seen that same walk when she was summoned to a judge’s bench. 
    “To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Priscilla Benedict?” I asked, standing to meet her.
    She hated when I called her Ms. Priscilla Benedict and knew I did it for that reason only. She never got upset about it, though. She usually gave me that you-got-one-more-time-to-call-me-that stare, though she knew my “one more time” wasn’t too far behind.
    Priscilla Benedict was the only offspring of Georgetown Law professor and accomplished author Hope Benedict and Criminal Defense Lawyer Phillip Evan Benedict. We met on my first day at the firm, walking toward the elevator. Although I had a few years of experience under my belt, we were both new faces in the firm. She was fresh out of Cornell Law, ready to blaze her own trail in an area already familiar with the Benedict surname. She was ready to build her own reputation, refusing to rely on the status Phillip and Hope had previously established. She had the smile to melt hearts, but kept that dagger close when she needed to go in for a kill.
    “Please, sit down,” she said, placing one cup of coffee next to my laptop.
    She stood in front my desk and waited for me to comply.
    “You’re going to need to sit down for… this,” she said, dropping the copy of the Super Lawyers magazine on my laptop keyboard. “You didn’t tell me she was…”
    Priscilla paused and took a quiet sip from her AKA coffee mug in its familiar colors. She sat back in one of the two leather chairs facing the desk and held the mug between both palms and close to her mouth. She crossed her legs and stared at me.
    “You didn’t tell me she came back. Is she the reason why you left Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne?” Priscilla continued in a brusque tone.
    “Is that your assumption?”
    I reached for the steaming hot liquid and sipped as I waited for her to respond. The taste of sweet Hawaiian coconut offered a quick escape to a familiar place. I returned the mug back on my desk and pushed it away from the edge. In the years I’ve known Priscilla, she was never one to prevaricate.
    “I wasn’t assuming. That was a direct question.”
    “There you go, treating me like a defendant during one of your cross examinations.”
    Priscilla placed her cup on the desk and then stood. She firmly pressed her palms against the desk and leaned her face closer to mine in an attempt to intimidate me. It wasn’t going to work, and to make certain I didn’t promptly surrender to her intimidation, I pushed my chair back and stood with authority. I gawked at her. I knew