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IT’S A RARE MOMENT in my life when I am actually speechless. But not for long.

“You are,” I say to Jacobson, “a made-in-America, one-of-a-kind, world-class scumbag.”

McGoey says, “And here I thought that was me.”

When I turn to him, I see the shark smile on his face.

“Fuck off,” I say to Thomas McGoey.

McGoey stood up when I came into the room. Now he puts up his hands in surrender and sits back down on the couch.

“I can explain,” Rob Jacobson says.

“No,” I say. “You can’t. Maybe to your new buddy here. But not to me.”

“Can I just say one thing?” McGoey says.

I try to glare him back into silence. But I’ve seen him enough on television and on courthouse steps to know that to really get him to stop talking, I’ll need to hit him with one of my old hockey sticks.

He and Rob Jacobson will get along swell, as long as neither one of them wants the other guy to actually listen.

“Listen, if you quote me on this, I’ll have to kill you,” McGoey says.

“Have one of your clients do it,” I say. “They all seem to know how.”

He lets that one go.

“As I was about to say,” he continues, “I know you’re the best. Everybody in our business knows you’re the best. Half of us actually come right out and admit it. The other half just lie about it.”

“Are we going anywhere with this?” I ask. “Because I just remembered I have to be somewhere, which means anywhere except here.”

“I’ve read the transcript from the first trial at least half a dozen times, and that was before Rob called me,” McGoey says. “And I swear, I felt like I did in the old days watching Michael Jordan play ball. A freaking master class in trial lawyering, no bullshit.”

“Not from you,” I say. “No, sir.”

He ignores that, too.

“I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you did,” McGoey says. “Listen, false modesty isn’t in my tool kit. But it would be an honor for me to work with you.”

“You’re not working with me.”

“Janie,” Rob Jacobson says. “Everybody on the planet says this case against me is stronger than the first one, even if I am still innocent.”

“Of course you are,” I say.

“I just happen to think that the only thing better than one top gun is two,” Jacobson says. “So why don’t all of us sit down and talk this out. Thomas and I were talking about the trial before you got here, and he has some very good ideas.”

“Here’s my best idea,” I say. “I quit.”

Rob Jacobson starts to say something and I put a finger to my lips.

“You’re done,” I say. “And we’re done.”

As I walk toward my car, having left the door open behind me, I suddenly feel as if a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

From the looks of my client, I’m guessing it’s one hundred and seventy-five pounds, or thereabouts.