The Resurrection File Read Online Free Page A

as he walked out of the courthouse toward his car.

4
    Washington, D.C.
    W HILE W ILL C HAMBERS WAS CONCLUDING HIS CASE that morning, a meeting was being held at the law firm of Kennelworth, Sherman, Abrams & Cantwell on K Street in downtown Washington, D.C. K Street was affectionately known as “central power” in legal circles. Its glass buildings housed the most powerful lobbyists, lawyers, and political insiders in the most powerful city on the planet.
    In the law firm’s cavernous suite of offices, attorney Jay Foxley Sherman, senior partner and long-reigning chief of the firm’s litigation section, was seated at the twenty-foot-long mahogany table in the large conference room. Next to him was a law clerk with a legal pad and an associate attorney.
    Sherman had distinguished looks, with silver-white hair and wire-rim glasses. As one of Washington’s elite trial lawyers, he was at the top of his game. Beltway magazine had just voted him the best litigator in D.C. for the rich, the powerful, and the politically connected. He had represented Senators caught in scandal, and a foreign ambassador accused of spying. Sherman had won a successful defamation lawsuit on behalf of a former president whose name was maliciously tarnished in a television news program. Fortune 500 companies came to him when their executives were indicted for white-collar crimes. These were the caliber of clients that paid Jay Foxley Sherman his six-hundred-dollar-per-hour fee.
    But today, “J-Fox” Sherman (as he was called by those who knew him) was not happy. He was struggling to look friendly and diplomatic. But underneath his calm demeanor and his twelve-hundred-dollar Italian suit, a volcano raged. Sherman was the kind of lawyer who insisted on absolute control over his clients. He demanded that they never talk to the press, never give interviews—and never appear on national television—without his prior approval. Control was his ultimate addiction. His trial experiencehad taught him that when you lose control of the client, you lose control of the case. And when that happens—more often than not, you end up losing the case itself. J-Fox Sherman didn’t try cases to lose them. Sherman’s expression was neutral, but his face was flushed.
    The beltway lawyer had good reason to be irate. Just a few weeks before, he had filed a libel and defamation lawsuit on his client’s behalf in the United States District Court of the District of Columbia. Shortly afterwards, and without consulting Sherman, the client had appeared on national television to discuss matters that went to the very core of his case.
    Sherman’s client, Dr. Albert Reichstad, sat across the conference table with a strained look, but his raised eyebrows and subtle smile revealed a measure of arrogance. Reichstad’s hair, professionally dyed a dark brown to cover the gray, was short, and his beard was well-trimmed. His retiring good looks went well with his expensive Harris-tweed jacket and imported tie. Though Dr. Reichstad was a scholar and an academic, he was not at all the rumpled, absent-minded-professor type. His clothes, and his manner, disclosed the kind of financial power that few professors ever experience within the cloistered life of the university.
    â€œStart the video,” Sherman barked to the law clerk.
    The clerk jumped to his feet and scurried over to the big-screen television that was smartly situated inside the floor-to-ceiling mahogany wall cabinet. He slid the video into the VCR and clicked it on with the remote control.
    â€œWhen did this program air?” Sherman asked, with the tone of a man who was about to see his client jeopardize his lawsuit on national television before his case was even a month old.
    Before Reichstad could answer, the associate attorney snapped out the answer.
    â€œFour nights ago.”
    â€œGood,” Sherman rapped out. “With all the news coverage that just broke