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One muggy summer evening, while Jack was downstairs beating on a gym bag with a steady one-two beat, she was on the couch with Matt along with a pile of unfolded laundry and a loose stack of Matt’s textbooks. Her hair was half out of her paralegal bun and her blue blazer was strewn on the back of the couch. The lawyer on the television slammed his case folder as he shouted his client’s innocence. He moves in on the witness at the stand and the camera switches to his face, twisted with righteous fury, telling the witness the story of one of his victims, a girl by the sound of it, in some sort of banking scheme to make him feel guilty. Or maybe just because Mr. Lawyer Guy was too angry to contain his anger on the topic.
Margaret snorted.
“What?” Matt asked, turning to her.
“That guy’d get dismissed from any reasonable court,” she said, “misconduct. Badgering the witness, Plus, screaming at witnesses won’t you any favor. Plus, it makes you look like you’re losing.”
“So, how do you win, mom.” He said, slumping over onto her.
Leaning over on him, she ruffled his hair with neatly manicured hands.
“The secret to winning the court is paying attention to people.”
“You said the key to winning court was being unflappable last week.” Matt countered.
“Yeah, well, that’s important too, Matthew.” She said.
Margaret was the only person who called him Matthew besides Father Kanton. She said it had panache and a mature polish to it.
“But people are the most important factors. The fulcrum of the whole operation.” She said, looking at him. “You can have the best case in the whole world, but it doesn’t matter if your jury doesn’t care. You have to cater to them, profile them. See what buzzwords make them smile or frown. The works.”
She winked.
“What about the judge, though? They’re the ones who decide everything in the end.”
“Put it on for them especially. Everyone has something they want to hear or something they need to hear.” She said to him. “It comes out in the way they act and the way they speak. Pay attention to people, Matthew. It’ll get you places..”
A decade or so later, he would reflect on those words atop a gritty, cement rooftop and find them accurate as the cacophony of Hell Kitchen’s nightrush flowed through his ears.