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Cedar Creek, Nevada

Wednesday, June 28, 1995 6 Days Prior . . .

MARVIN MANN HAD BEEN A LEGAL INVESTIGATOR FOR MARGOLIS Margolis for over a decade. As was the firm’s policy, after five years investigators were assigned to one of the partners. Marvin had been assigned to Baker Jauncey, and the two had developed not just a great working relationship, but a friendship as well. There was a socioeconomic gap between the two that could not be denied. Baker Jauncey was a white, fifty-two-year-old partner at one of Nevada’s largest personal injury firms and made close to a million dollars a year. Marvin was a black, thirty-four-year-old investigator who cleared $36,000 a year. But as different as they were, his boss gave off a vibe of decorum that drew Marvin in.

Baker Jauncey was not presumptuous or condescending, as Marvin often experienced with other partners at the firm. To the contrary, Baker treated Marvin as an equal, and had never made the man feel inadequate. Baker had invited Marvin and his wife to dinner at his home—a palatial estate in the foothills three times the size of Marvin’s house in town. A few weeks later, Marvin returned the invitation. It was nothing fancy—burgers on the grill and beers on the back patio—but they all had a grand time and ended the night playing cards until the early hours.

A friendship had blossomed, and Marvin found that he had never been happier than the years he worked for Baker Jauncey. Margolis Margolis was a cutthroat environment. Especially before investigators were assigned to partners. Early hires worked for two years as independent contractors and freelance investigators, taking any job Margolis Margolis dished out and doing anything necessary to stand out and make a name for themselves. For investigators that made it past the two-year initiation, a three-year apprenticeship followed that required junior investigators to work under senior investigators. Those that hung in and made it that far earned the privilege of being assigned as the sole investigator for one of the partners.

Marvin had made the rounds and served his time. But now he was an orphan. Baker Jauncey’s death had shaken the staff at Margolis Margolis. Baker’s longtime paralegal had not been back to work since the news broke, and Marvin saw Baker’s secretary crying as she packed up her desk after she was assigned to another partner. Marvin sat at his desk—a cubicle on the first floor where investigators spent their time when not out in the field. He wasn’t sure what his future at Margolis Margolis looked like. The death of a partner had never happened before and so there was no precedent for his situation.

Partners had retired, of course, but by that time the attorney had typically slowed down enough that their investigator was reassigned. Marvin suspected a reassignment was in his future. But if, instead, the partners indicated that there was no room for him at Margolis Margolis, he would not be disappointed. He’d accept his severance package, pack up his pregnant wife, and run far away from Cedar Creek. And he’d take his secrets with him and hope no one ever came looking for him.

Marvin lifted the manila envelope from his desk and held it in his hands. The way he figured things, he had two options. He could burn the envelope and the documents it contained, go to Baker’s funeral, and pretend he knew nothing. That was the safest option. The other was to give the documents to the one honest man in town who would do the right thing with them.