The room had a soft instrumental playing, but otherwise was completely quiet. None of the noise and bustle from the bar outside was able to penetrate. Almost as soon as the hostess had left, a waiter came in and silently opened a bottle of wine. The label was in French and was yellowed with age. I was not much of a wine drinker. I enjoyed drinking wine; I just didn’t know very much about it. But when the waiter poured the red liquid into my glass, I could smell the difference between this and the cheap bottles that I had a tendency to buy. It had none of the sharpness or smell of alcohol. It was like walking in an orchard, the scents of earth, wood, and fruit all mingling together. My mouth started watering.

Asher picked up his own glass once the waiter had left.

“To your first week on the job.”

I lifted my own glass in response and we lightly clinked them together, the sound resonating in the quiet space. The taste of the wine exceeded the promise offered by its smell. Flavor exploded in my mouth and a warmth immediately spread from my center throughout my body.

I looked up at Asher, who was smiling cryptically. Despite the fact that he had invited me out, he was oddly hesitant to begin the conversation. I was not comfortable with long silences, so I decided to open things up.

“Asher, why did you take on the Warner case if she doesn’t have any money? You said that you only defended guilty people because they were the ones who could pay. But you argued on Tuesday that she couldn’t make bail. It doesn’t make sense.”

He tilted his glass to his lips again, taking another sip of wine so red and luminous that it could have been liquid rubies. I watched his Adam’s apple work up and down as he swallowed. The muscles around his neck flexed and relaxed. He took a few moments before responding.

“What I told you before is true, guilty clients are better for your bottom line. And I was telling the truth in court, that Amber could not make bail at one million.”

“So, why did you take her on then?”

“Let me tell you a bit about how criminal justice really works. Let’s say you are a poor black or Latino man and you get arrested for drug possession. Now, maybe the cops performed a proper search or maybe they didn’t. These days, the Fourth Amendment isn’t what it used to be, but there are still limits to what police can do. Now, innocent or guilty, the reality is, it doesn’t matter. Because you will get a public defender who is even more overworked and underfunded than the prosecutor. You are lucky if you meet your lawyer five minutes before the hearing. Then you will be pressured into a plea deal because nobody wants to waste the time on your case. Now, there are two groups of people who can afford to pay a top shelf defense attorney: successful criminals and wealthy civilians.”

“So why are you defending her?”

“I’m getting to that,” he said, seeming slightly annoyed that I had interrupted his dissertation. “A case like this is often good advertising. It is high profile and the defendant is an attractive white woman. It is going to be featured on the news for months.”

“But you already have a great reputation, everyone seems to know you, and you are at the best defense firm in Southern California. Do you really need to get more publicity?”

He took another drink from his glass and looked up at the ceiling. The line of questioning seemed to make him uncomfortable. I wondered why. I also wondered whether I wanted to push it any further. He came off as such a cynical operator, someone who saw all the angles and was always looking out for his own bottom line. But this didn’t make very much sense.

He was hiding something, but I couldn’t think of what it might be.

We sat in an uncomfortable silence for another few moments, and then the waiter came back in and set down the first course - a series of crostini with wild mushrooms, tomatoes, and other vegetables.

The food was consumed without any conversation. Asher was quiet. He did not offer any further clarification or comment on the Warner case, or anything else for that matter. For someone who was always in control, he seemed strangely flustered. Still, I wanted to enjoy a nice evening out, so I didn’t push the issue.

“Tell me a bit about your family,” I asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different, lighter direction. It did not have the result I had intended.

Asher’s face darkened.

“I don’t talk to my family. They cut me off a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

“It’s fine.” His face softened. “My father is a colossal prick, but he is a rich one. He made a lot of money in commercial real estate. You may have seen signs for Dean Partners on some of the new buildings going up downtown. He paid for me to go to law school because he wanted me to work for the company. When I took another job in criminal defense, he was furious. Said he was going to liquidate my trust fund, cut me out of the will. It pissed me off. So, I decided to defend one of the workers at an office tower they were building who had been accused of stealing supplies. It looked like a nothing case. I took it for spite more than anything else. But in the course of investigating, I found that the construction company had been working with my father to overstate their purchases and then claim the thefts as losses to the insurance company.”

He popped one of the crostini in his mouth.

“Since then, I’ve been unwelcome at family events.”

I was shocked. He had cultivated such an attitude of cynical detachment that it felt strange to imagine him standing up for the little guy on principle, even if the principle were simply sticking it to his father. I reflected on how little I really knew about Asher Dean.

“At one point, they even tried to cut me out of the business entirely, but my ownership stake came from my grandfather, so I still own a good percentage. But they did decide to cut out any dividends, so I don’t get any money from it unless I sell. Which is what they want anyway.”

The conversation turned lighter as the dinner wore on. Course after course came out, along with more bottles of wine. I had begun to feel overwhelmed by the profusion of flavors as well as the alcohol. With the initial awkwardness passed, we carried on what felt like a completely normal dinner date.

About an hour in, Asher excused himself to go to the restroom. I was left in the private room by myself. I poured myself another glass of wine, luxuriating in the heady aroma. The courses were small, but there were a lot of them. I was nearly full. But the food was so good that I couldn’t stop myself from taking another forkful of saffron risotto.

Asher had been gone for longer than I would have thought normal for a trip to the bathroom. By that time, the wine had already started putting pressure on my bladder, so I got up, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. I walked back along the path we had come in on, but before I got to the main room, I heard voices talking in hushed, but urgent tones. One of them was Asher’s.

I peeked around the corner and saw Asher talking with two men. They were both dressed well, in tailored suits, but something about their manner shouted violence. One of them was standing right in Asher’s face while the other loomed to the side.

“Don’t worry, I will handle it,” Asher said. He looked calm, but I didn’t see how it was possible. “I told you it wouldn’t be a problem and it isn’t.”

“Listen to me, Dean. We are patient, but we have limits. You know what is at stake here.”

“Of course I know. You know I know. I am taking care of it.”

The big man in front of Asher raised his hand and pointed a finger right into his face.

“You had better. Because if she goes down, well, there are going to be consequences. And not just for her.”

I kept myself hidden behind the corner until the sound of the two men leaving faded. When I came out, Asher was still standing there, staring at his feet. He heard me approaching and snapped his head up. He immediately composed his face, but I could tell that he was shaken. I tried to affect a breezy demeanor and he smiled at me.

“Sorry, I ran into a couple of friends at the bar. The restroom is just through the door and to the left.”

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. It was an oddly familiar, intimate act that felt out of place. Asher was definitely a little off after that confrontation. I wanted to ask him about it, but the pressure on my bladder was too insistent.

When I got back to the private dining room, Asher was sitting comfortably, composed, leaning back against the thickly padded chair. I slid into my own seat and tucked into the new dish that had been brought in my absence. My favorite course, dessert. A warm, sinfully dark slice of chocolate cake dripping with ganache and paired with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. I didn’t have much room left, but I decided to do my best. Even if I was a bit overstuffed, it looked like it would be worth it. I took a forkful of the cake and swept it through the melting ice cream. Heaven.

Asher was eating quietly, watching me from across the table. Despite the fact that I was eager to just dive into the dessert and forget about everything, I couldn’t go any longer without asking about the confrontation in the hallway.

“Asher, who were those guys you were you talking to in the hallway?”

His face twitched almost imperceptibly.

“Like I told you, I ran into some friends.”

“It didn’t sound like a friendly conversation.”

“You were listening in?” His voice tightened. I wondered how far I could push him on this. I didn’t want to ruin the evening, but at the same time, if something serious was going on, I wanted to know.

“Just the tone. It sounded intense,” I lied. He relaxed slightly.

“A little disagreement. I have some business interests outside of the practice and we were discussing business.”

I didn’t believe him. It sounded to me like those guys were talking about the Warner case. Could there be something going on besides the murder? Asher clearly didn’t want to talk about it. He must have been afraid of those guys, or whoever they were working for. Is that why he took the case? Was the murder connected to something bigger?

There were too many questions to ask and Asher was not going to answer them. He smiled and tried to change the subject.

“How is the cake?”

“The whole dinner has been amazing.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Could I interest you in a nightcap?”

I wasn’t comfortable with the way he was just ignoring my questions about the confrontation. I was curious, but also concerned. I hoped Asher was not in some kind of trouble. But maybe another drink wouldn’t hurt. I could certainly use some more time to digest my dinner. If this night was heading where I hoped it was, I didn’t want to feel all bloated and stuffed. Besides, another drink or two might loosen Asher’s tongue a bit and help me get some more information. I nodded my assent.

“Great. Finish your cake and we will head out. I know just the spot.”

The spot Asher referred to ended up being a little jazz bar a few blocks away. A live band filled the dark space with music while Asher and I sat tightly next to each other in a small booth. All of the worries and the questions that I had during dinner melted away as Asher put his arm around me and pulled me close.