That told Seeley nothing. What looks like passion can in fact be nothing more than a driving fear of failure. In his last years in New York, even as he was winning most of his cases and favorably settling the others, Seeley could never shake the conviction that he had failed his clients by not obtaining a larger damage award or more generous settlement terms.

“Maybe Warren isn't a problem,” Seeley said, “but I want to nail this down. If there's someone out there with a halfway legitimate claim that he-or she-made this invention before Steinhardt did, I need to know it before I put him on the stand. I'm seeing him this afternoon, but I want you to go through his lab notes and mark anything that could raise a question.”

Again Palmieri reddened, and this time Seeley caught the meaning at once.

“This is too important for an associate. If it weren't important I wouldn't ask you to do it. I'll look at whatever you come up with tomorrow morning.”

Palmieri pushed back to leave.

“Look, Chris, when Vaxtek asked me to take this case, I told them they should let the second chair run it, but they wouldn't listen.”

“What did they say?”

“That you didn't have enough experience.”

“And you believe that?”

“It wasn't my decision to make.” Seeley remembered the missing trial notebook. “Did you get a look at Pearsall's trial notes?”

Palmieri said, “Look, Mr. Seeley-”

“The people I work with call me Mike. What about the notebook?”

“He didn't keep one.”

“You're sure of that.”

“I worked for Bob from the day I started here. Eleven years. He never kept a trial notebook. Maybe it's something New York lawyers do.”

Seeley was growing tired of the barbs. “Did he talk to you about his theory of the case?”