ONE


The last time Michael Seeley saw his brother it was in a hotel kitchen in San Francisco and Leonard was arguing with the hotel's catering manager over the bill for his wedding reception. Workers were cleaning up and the pulsing bass from the dance band in the next room echoed over the clatter of silverware. Seeley had to catch red-eye back to New York City, but the caterer was implacable and Leonard wouldn't let up, even when Seeley signaled that he was going to leave. Only after Seeley started out the door did Leonard stop, flinging his arms open to pull him into an awkward embrace.

"Let's stop being strangers, Mike." Leonard's breath tickled his ear.

Seeley broke away without answering. He loved his younger brother in the sense that he cared about his well-being, but he neither liked nor trusted him.

In the nine years since the wedding Leonard had called three or four times and sent his annual Christmas card. There was a printed announcement when he moved his medical practice from Palo Alto to San Francisco, and another last year when he took a job as chief medical officer at a biotech company in South San Francisco.

The announcement, mailed to Seeley in Manhattan, caught up with him in Buffalo, where he had moved his law practice. His first job out of law school had been in Buffalo. However, this time he was practicing not in the city's largest firm but by himself, and not in a steel-and-glass office tower but in a small office in the Ellicott Square Building, an ancient pile of bricks in the center of the city's half-deserted downtown.

Seeley's feet were up on a corner of his desk. Behind him, the single window looked out onto Swan Street, four stories below. His large shoulders hunched forward as if he was trying to warm himself against the chill scene outside. Rudy, the building's boiler man, was maneuvering a giant wrench beneath the decrepit steam radiator by the door and offering his views on whether the radiator was the oldest in western New York or in the Western world when a movement of yellow and gold flashed by the open door.

Seconds later, Seeley's part-time receptionist leaned into the office. "Someone to see you." There was an unfamiliar thrill in Mrs. Rosziak's voice, as if the visitor were a celebrity, or at least a client more prosperous than the ones who usually came to the office. "From California." She underlined the words. "Your brother."

It was Leonard's sandy hair and the lemon V-neck under a brass-buttoned blazer that created the impression of yellow and gold. The wariness in Leonard's eyes when he came into the room didn't match the broad smile and outstretched arms. His arms dropped when he saw Seeley's frown. Leonard transferred a thick manila envelope to his left hand and reached the other across the desk. Seeley's single thought as he took his brother's hand was how quickly he could get him out of the office. He had already planned his day: reviewing client files, preparing for two court appearances in the early afternoon, visiting a jailed client who had been unable to make bail.

Rudy packed his toolbox and, going through the door, saluted Seeley with a promise that the radiator would be fine for at least another century. Seeley gestured for Leonard to take the client's chair across from him.

"It's nice to see you, Len, but I'm busy, and if you flew out here to pitch your case, you wasted your time."

"I left a message with your girl that I was coming."

The thought of Mrs. Rosziak being called a girl amused Seeley, but not enough to make him smile. "She told me."

Leonard had been leaving messages with Mrs. Rosziak for a week. His...

 

"Memorable [and] pleasurable . . . Goldstein displays the keen eye and sure hand of a gifted writer."

 

"A compelling yarn and a fascinating glimpse at one of the more notorious chapters in Hollywood history."

 

"It's difficult to convey the mounting excitement with which I turned the pages . . . the writing [is] masterful, not one wasted word . . . A terrific read."

 

"[S]pins out a fresh, sharp-witted drama about Hollywood's blacklist . . . Goldstein, who does a fine job of breaking down complicated moral, ethical and historical issues to understandable nuggets, has laid the foundation for what could be a strong franchise."

 

"Compares favorably with the best legal thrillers of the likes of John Grisham . . . [Errors and Omissions] qualifies Goldstein for a high position among recent crime fiction."

 

PAUL GOLDSTEIN is the Lillick Professor of Law at Stanford Law School and is widely recognized as one of the country's leading authorities on intellectual property law. He is regularly included in The Best Lawyers in America and testifies before congressional committees and international government meetings on intellectual property issues. A Patent Lie is the sequel to his first novel, Errors and Omissions. A New York native, he now lives outside San...

A Patent Lie by Paul Goldstein
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