Proof of Intent by William J. Coughlin

figure out a strategy for dealing with your situation.”
    Still nothing from Miles.
    â€œI’m not a charity, Miles. I have two employees. I have rent to pay. On occasion I even like to eat a square meal. I don’t think I should have to explain this to you. Murder trials are terribly expensive. However much of a bargain I like to think it is, my time doesn’t come cheap. Plus there will be expert witnesses. They cost money. Every time I make a flip chart or a blowup of an exhibit for trial, it costs sixty bucks. Every time I FedEx a document? Money. Investigators? Money. Photocopying? Money.”
    Miles put his face in his hands.
    â€œMiles, modesty aside, I am hands down the best criminal defense attorney in this county. But I cannot give you a good defense on the cheap. It’s that simple.”
    Miles finally looked up at me. “How much are we talking?”
    â€œDepends on how long it runs, how many experts I need, how much investigation . . .”
    Miles suddenly looked irritated. “Just give me a number!”
    â€œAssuming we go to trial? Absolute, utter rock bottom, seventy-five grand. If we do it right—half a million? Maybe more.”
    Miles’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me! I’ve just had my wife stolen from me in the most horrible way. And you’re saying that the cost to me—a totally, totally, utterly blameless innocent bastard—just to walk away with my freedom, it could run me half a
million
dollars?”
    â€œAnd that’s not counting appellate work,” I said dryly.
    Miles stared furiously at me. “If I wasn’t so goddamn angry, I could weep. This is
wrong
.”
    â€œYes,” I said. “But imagine how you’d feel if you were some poor broke guy who came up on the wrong side of town.”
    He looked at me for a minute, then he started to laugh. He laughed and laughed until tears started running down his face.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    When he finally stopped laughing, Miles said, “Here’s the funny part, Charley. I
am
some poor broke guy who came up on the wrong side of town.”
    â€œWhat about all those best-sellers? All those movies?”
    â€œThat was a long, long time ago, pal. You know how much money I made on the domestic sale of my last book? After I paid my agent? Twenty-nine thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars. I made one thousand eight hundred bucks in film residuals, and got royalty checks for six thousand and twelve dollars on old books.”
    â€œSavings?”
    â€œNada
. Used up long ago.”
    â€œHouse?”
    â€œI’ve borrowed against the equity in the place twice already.”
    â€œCan you go back to the well?”
    His eyes widened. “Charley, that’s my
housel
You’re asking me to hock the title to my house when I know with absolute dead certainty I’ll never be able to make enough money again in my life to get out from under the note.”
    I sat silently.
    â€œDiana and I have been living beyond our means for a long time,” Miles said finally. “I’ve been slowly selling off assets, tightening the belt. Diana’s been a good sport about it, but I’ve finally cut to the bone. I put those two mortgages on the house without telling Diana. I didn’t want her to know how bad it had gotten.” Tears began trailing out of Miles Dane’s eyes.
    Finally, Lisa spoke. She was sounding a little choked up, too. “This is about the most depressing and cruel thing I’ve ever heard in my life, Mr. Dane. But the reality is that if you don’t put another mortgage on whatever equity is left in your home, you will get represented by the public defender. My father knows all of them. I’m sure they’re nice young people, well-meaning, hardworking. But they have no resources and nowhere near the experience or talent of Charley Sloan, Attorney at Law.”
    Miles let out a long, slow