Paydirt

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Bobby Gallagher had it all. A beautiful, savvy wife he adored, a whiz kid son who amazed him, and a high-profile, high-prestige job that his law school classmates would have sued their mothers to land. So what the hell was wrong?

I bend the rules until they break. I use my degree as a license to warp justice and perpetuate frauds. I'm a lawyer who's lost his moral compass and doesn't know how to find it.

He pondered these thoughts while sipping margaritas. After the third drink, he reached a conclusion. He would change his life.

But how, without giving up all the perks that come with my job as a professional prick?

Bobby was reclining on a wooden chaise lounge on his father-in-law's patio, an expanse of flagstone shaped like the Texas Panhandle and nearly as large. The patio jutted from the rear of Martin Kingsley's weekend ranch house, a rustic building the size of several football fields in the Hill Country southwest of Dallas.

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