A man with an equine face and raven hair coated in enough gel to style an entire yak stepped up to Lindsay and proffered a hand. “Congratulations, Counselor,” he said. “Those were some of the finest prosecuting arguments I’ve heard in my time. How long have you been doing this?”Lindsay shook the hand and nodded politely. “Not quite three years, but thank you. And you, Mister Reaves. You’ve earned your reputation. Frankly, I wasn’t sure that we’d be able to sway the jury after you got done speaking with them, notwithstanding the body of convicting evidence we had.”Reaves smiled. “You’re too kind. But honestly, it was excellent work.”Lindsay thanked him again, and began organizing a stack of documents before filing them carefully in her briefcase.“I was thinking,” Reaves added, sitting sideways on her table, “that our firm could use a sharp, new prosecuting attorney. Mister Kinsler is set to retire at the end of next month. He’s old hat, but I think you’d be able to fill his shoes in no time.”
