Seeley had heard somewhere that cramped quarters were common in biotech, even for senior executives, and Leonard's office was no larger than Seeley's in the Ellicott Square Building. The desk was a slab of blond wood, part of a combination cabinet-bookshelf. The desktop was empty and the bookshelf nearly so. A beefy man in chinos and polo shirt had propped himself against the desk's outer edge, facing the open door. His bulk partially obscured Leonard, who was sitting behind the desk. There was a tension in the room, as if the two had been arguing.

“Ed Barnum,” Leonard said, introducing them. “Michael Seeley.”

Barnum studied Seeley unhurriedly through aviator glasses and said nothing while Seeley walked around the office. The photographs were mostly of Leonard on vacation, posed against a ski slope or beaming under a baseball cap on a fishing charter. A woman was with him in the photographs. The view out the wall-sized window was of a succession of mud-brown hills, relieved in their monotony only by a bright ribbon of cheap-looking houses.

Leonard started to speak, but Barnum said, “Ray Crosetto sends his regards. So does Sandy Eyring.” The two were well-known trial lawyers, Crosetto from Los Angeles and Eyring from Salt Lake City. Seeley had litigated against them in a couple of long trials before he left his New York firm. This was Barnum's way of letting Seeley know that he had asked around before agreeing to take him on as his new trial counsel.

“They said you're a good lawyer, but that you have an independent streak. I don't know if Leonard impressed on you how important this case is to our company.”

“All my cases are important.”

Barnum moved so that Seeley could no longer see Leonard's eyes. “I don't think you understand. St. Gall already has its product on the market. If we lose this patent the generics will flood the market with knockoffs inside of a year. We've sunk almost half a billion dollars into AV/AS. If you lose this case, we'll never see a dime of it.”