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űma Bashears waited for the elderly man to stop sobbing. She turned away so that he wouldn't see her embarrassment for him. It amazed Alma that someone as rich as Mitchell Brenner could be reduced to this level of humiliation. The culprit, who sat a few inches from her father's quivering body, fiddled with a nose ring and adjusted a silver-studded collar around her throat.
Brenner's eighteen-year-old daughter, Lucy, screwed anything that would look at her, shoplifted for the pleasure of accomplishment, and sniffed cocaine until her nose had almost rotted off her face. In thirty minutes Lucy Brenner faced sentencing before the toughest judge in San Francisco and there was no chance that Daddy could buy her way out of this one.
If her father's outburst disturbed her, Lucy didn't let it show. She casually combed her black-lacquered nails through greasy strands of maroon-colored hair. "Look, lady," Lucy said to Alma, "you've upset my daddy. Either you figure a way to get me out of this mess or he'll fire your watusi."
The tone of Lucy's threat sent anxious twists through Alma's stomach. Alma had been a senior associate with the San Francisco firm of Steinburg, Erickson, and Jane vie for six years. She intended to be a partner before 1