The Maybach was a capsule of silence moving at eighty miles per hour. The rain drummed a frantic rhythm on the roof.
Harrison opened a small refrigerator console between the seats. He pulled out an ice pack, cracked it to activate the chemical chill, and handed it to her without a word.
Scarlett pressed it to her throbbing ankle. The cold was shocking, grounding her.
"Harrison," she said. "Please. You saw what he is. You saw what he did. Help me fight him. Be my lawyer."
Harrison stiffened. He kept his eyes on the road partition. "I told you, Scarlett. I can't."
"You can. You just won't."
"It's the same thing."
"I have nothing to trade," Scarlett said, her voice trembling. "But I have myself. If you take the case... I will be whatever you want. Mistress. Secret. I don't care."
Harrison slammed his hand against the leather armrest. "Stop offering yourself like a commodity! It's pathetic."
"It's all I have left!" Scarlett shouted back. "My father is going to die in prison! So yes, I'm offering myself. To you."
"Driver, pull over," Harrison barked.
The car swerved onto the shoulder of the highway. Harrison turned to face her. He loomed over her, trapping her in the corner of the seat.
"You think that's what I want?" he hissed. "You think I saved you back there because I want to sleep with you?"
"Don't you?" Scarlett challenged.
"If I wanted a mistress, I could have a thousand women who don't come with federal indictments attached." He reached out, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You are worth more than a transaction, Scarlett. Stop acting like you're cheap."
He let her go and sat back, running a hand through his hair. He looked defeated.
"I cannot represent your father. The conflict is absolute. If I took the case, the prosecution would claim bias because of my ties to Vance. It would hurt your father's defense."
Scarlett slumped. "So that's it. It's over."
"Get out," Harrison said quietly.
"What?"
"Get out of the car. My driver will take you the rest of the way. I need to make a call."
He opened the door and stepped out into the rain, flagging down a taxi that was miraculously passing. He shoved a wad of cash at the driver.
"Take her home," he ordered.
Scarlett stared at him from the backseat of the taxi as it pulled away. He was standing on the side of the highway, rain soaking his shirt, looking like a man at war with the world.
Back in the Maybach, Harrison slammed the door. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in years.
"Mark," Harrison said when the line connected. "It's Harrison. I have a case for you. Robert Miller."
"The Ponzi guy? You won't touch that with a ten-foot pole," Mark Jensen's voice was crackly.
"I can't. You can. Take the case. Pro bono. Or rather, bill me. Blind trust."
"Why?"
"Because he's innocent. And because..." Harrison looked at the empty seat beside him. "Just do it. And Mark? She can never know it was me."
