Power Lawyer 2

by Dave Daren

  The waitress was back, and this time she thunked two heavy plates onto the table. The wings occupied most of the plate, with a tiny pile of fries pushed into one small corner. That was fine by me, because the wings were perfect. A serious spicy kick with just a hint of vinegar, and maybe just the slightest bit of something sweet. My mouth started watering at the first bite, and I slurped down two more Cokes before I was finished.

  “Okay,” Miyo admitted as she took another bite of the Reuben, “It’s good.”

  “I can’t believe you doubted me,” I replied.

  “Tell me about this place you’re renting,” she urged.

  “It’s just a small apartment,” I said. “Nothing special.”

  “I can’t believe you’re renting two apartments,” she responded. “I mean, I can barely afford the rent on one.”

  “Well, I might have a little help,” I conceded.

  “You have a roommate,” she guessed. Her glance became more speculative as she eyed me from across the table.

  “No roommates,” I assured her.

  “Just you in this tiny apartment,” she recapped.

  “Yep, that’s about it,” I replied.

  “Show it to me,” she suddenly suggested.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You’ve seen my place,” she said. “It only seems fair.”

  “But this isn’t really my place,” I pointed out. “It’s just temporary.”

  “Then why don’t we go to your real place?” she needled. Her expression had shifted again, this time into a pout. I was having a hard time keeping up with the mood swings, and I wondered where the fierce woman from our first date had gone.

  “Miyo,” I said after several heartbeats, “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, but her gaze had drifted towards her glass, and she was slowly turning it around and around.

  “Miyo,” I chided. “Has something else happened?”

  “No,” she sighed. She lifted her gaze. “It’s just… Sometimes I feel like I’m being watched. And I keep seeing this guy. I mean, at first, I thought he lived in the neighborhood, so that’s why I kept running into him, but now I don’t know.”

  “Has he said anything to you or approached you in any way?” I asked.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I just keep seeing him, and it’s driving me crazy. I’m not sleeping at night, and I’m tense all day, just waiting to see where he’ll show up next.”

  “Okay,” I said, “The important thing is that you’re aware of him. Has anybody else caught your eye?”

  “No, it’s just the one guy,” she insisted.

  “What type of security do you have?” I asked.

  “I have an alarm,” she replied.

  “Maybe we should set up some video cameras,” I mused. “See if we can catch this guy on tape.”

  “He reminds of Kyle’s buddies,” she sighed. “He has that same look about him.”

  “It’s possible,” I conceded.

  “Come home with me tonight,” she suddenly blurted out.

  “Miyo...” I protested.

  “At least, just make sure the apartment is okay,” she persisted. “I just need to be sure.”

  “Why are you so worried?” I pressed. “What makes you think tonight’s going to be different.”

  Miyo sorted through her purse and pulled a piece of paper from its depths. It was one of those lined sheets from a notebook, with a rough edge where it had been yanked from the spiral binding. It had been folded over, and Miyo’s apartment number was written on the front. I laid it flat and read the message that had been printed inside: ‘We know where you live’.

  “I found the note this morning, tucked by my mailbox,” she said, and I noticed she was twirling the glass again.

  “You should call the police,” I recommended.

  “I did,” she replied. “They weren’t very impressed.”

  “Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll take you home but just to make sure no one’s inside waiting for you.”

  “Thank you,” she declared as she leaned forward. The uncertainty was gone, and she exuded happiness again, as well as something a little edgier.

  This time I followed her in my Honda, and I kept telling myself that it was just to check the apartment. A quick search, maybe a hug for reassurance, and then I was out. After all, I still had work to do to prepare for the Kurzak deposition.

  I prowled through the apartment first, after Miyo had opened the door. I pulled open every door and peered inside every closet and every cabinet. I even poked around under the bathroom sink.

  “No one’s here,” I said as I returned to the hallway.

  “Okay,” she breathed. “Will you stay for a moment? I have some nice whiskey.”

  “Miyo--”

  “Please,” she cut me off. She was back in a nervous mode, and I saw her glance towards the front door, as if she expected someone to break in.

  “I have work I need to do,” I protested gently.

  “I know,” she said as she slid a hand across my chest. I could feel her heat even through the fabric of my shirt. “Just one drink.”

  “One drink,” I gave in. She gave me a sensual smile and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard glasses clink as she set them on the counter. My better half was screaming at me to leave, but I moved towards the TV area instead. I found myself staring at a picture on the wall, a print that showed a city skyline at night. It wasn’t one that I recognized, but it was an interesting angle. The major thoroughfare that was the center of the image disappeared into the distance, apparently eaten by the mountains that loomed over the city.

  “Sapporo,” Miyo said as she joined me in front of the picture and handed me a glass.

  I took a sip and gave her a raised eyebrow.

  “I might have loans, but I can still splurge every once in a while,” she responded.

  “You definitely splurged,” I agreed. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Good,” she said, “Or I might have to kick you out before you finish it.”

  “Tell me about it,” I encouraged with a nod to the print.

  “What’s to tell?” she sighed. “It’s still home, I suppose, in some ways. My parents are still there. And there are some things I miss, but mostly I don’t think about it.”

  “You put up a picture,” I protested.

  “I’ve had that since I came here,” she explained. “I’ve been carrying it around because… well, I don’t really know why, other than it’s one of the few things that I did own for a long time. I guess I’ve just gotten used to it.”

  “What do you miss about Sapporo?” I asked.

  “The smell of snow in the winter,” she said thoughtfully. “Prowling around Moerenuma Park, poking into the stores at Tanukikoji with my friends.”

  “What about your family?” I probed as I took another sip of whiskey.

  “It’s complicated,” she replied. She tossed her head back then and looked at me over the rim of her glass. “What about your family?”

  “They passed away,” I said simply.

  “That’s it?” she nudged.

  “My parents and my sister were heading home from a trip to the farmer’s market,” I finally said after a consultation with the last of the whiskey in my glass. “I’d just finished the bar exam, so my mom told me to sleep in. I was still in bed when the police knocked on the door to tell me that there had been an accident involving a drunk driver.”

  “Vince, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. She was leaning against me now, and her hand trailed slowly along my spine. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s okay,” I said morosely. “They say it helps to talk about it.”

  She plucked the glass from my hand and set it on the side table next to hers. Neither of us said a word as she took my hand and guided me to the bedroom. It was so wrong, but then she had the dress off, and I saw the flash of orange and gold as the dragon emerged. I was pinned by her stare
, which I couldn’t read. I was terrified and aroused and drowning again. She was in absolute control, and all I could do was hang on for dear life.

  Chapter 17

  I managed to drag myself from Miyo’s bed before the sun was over the horizon. She barely stirred as I crept quietly around the room and recovered various bits of clothing, so I made my goodbyes in a quick note that I left next to the alarm clock. I spent the drive back to my apartment pondering Miyo. At times, she was as fierce and defiant as any person I’d ever met. At other times, she could seem so fragile. I understood that she was stressed by fear right now, but the changes were still a puzzle.

  Fortunately, Kurzak’s deposition was scheduled to begin after lunch, so I had time to finish the work I should have completed last night. I stopped at the Starbucks long enough to grab coffee and a bagel before heading up to the apartment. Properly armed, I sat down at the laptop and started typing.

  I was the second person to arrive for the day’s deposition. The transcriptionist was setting up her equipment when I stepped into the room. We exchanged small talk as we found plugs for all of the electronics, and then we waited for the rest of the participants to appear.

  Bertoch was the first one to enter the room, followed by the same quiet associate. Kurzak hesitated in the door before he stepped into the room. He looked sullen, and the dark bags under his eyes were a sure sign that he hadn’t slept well.

  We ran through the usual opening routine, and then I gave Kurzak a few softball questions, just to get him comfortable. It was all routine, and very dull, and Bertoch had started to doodle on his pad.

  “How did you meet Tucker Watts?” I asked abruptly. I had no doubt the two had talked last night, but I was curious to hear Kurzak’s version.

  “Tucker?” Kurzak repeated. He blinked a few times, and I could see him run through a few scenarios. He found the one he liked, and he added, “In Macao. We happened to be there at the same time, and we were introduced by mutual acquaintances.”

  “Which mutual acquaintances?” I pressed.

  “Just some fellow executives in the shipping industry,” Kurzak said with a watery smile.

  “I need names,” I insisted.

  “Michael Trudeau, Harry Agata, Shinzo Ike,” Kurzak reeled off. “There were others in the group that I recognized as well.”

  “Was this your first trip to Macao?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Do you routinely travel to Asia?” I continued.

  “No,” Kurzak admitted. “I do most of my work here in L.A.”

  “So how did you meet these mutual acquaintances?” I asked.

  “I do travel some,” he declared. “And we often have visitors to our offices.”

  “Including people who work for your competition?” I asked incredulously.

  “It’s a small industry in many ways,” Kurzak replied. “And it’s growing smaller.”

  “How much contact did you have with Watts after you were introduced?” I questioned.

  “Sporadic,” Kurzak replied.

  “What does that mean? Once a year? Once a month?”

  “Maybe once or twice a month,” Kurzak said with a shrug.

  “Who initiated these contacts?” I continued.

  “Mostly Watts,” Kurzak insisted. “It was obvious that he was a man fishing for job opportunities.”

  “So he was unhappy at Three Dragons?” I asked.

  “That’s purely speculative,” Bertoch declared as he finally looked up from his doodle.

  “I’ll rephrase,” I conceded. “What made you think he was fishing for job opportunities?”

  “His emails were mostly about his accomplishments, and what he hoped to do next. They read like resumes,” Kurzak explained.

  “But you didn’t have much personal knowledge of Watts?” I pressed.

  “Not especially,” Kurzak agreed.

  “Then why did you suggest to Arturo Bernardi that Watts take over the board?” I asked.

  “Arturo was very ill, as you well know,” Kurzak snarled. “We had several long discussions about what was best for the firm, and Arturo finally reached the point where he felt he was more of a hindrance than a benefit. He asked me for a list of names, and Watts was one of those on the list. I told Arturo I knew very little about the man personally, but he had an impressive record. The decision was Arturo’s.”

  I nodded. Kurzak’s story sounded true, up to a point, but it wasn’t complete. Arturo struck me as the kind of person who would have looked for someone in-house to take over before bringing in a stranger, as assessment Anna agreed with. I also had a hard time imagining Arturo being swayed by a resume.

  “Why didn’t Arturo pick someone from inside the company?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kurzak said. His eyes darted towards Bertoch, and I knew he was lying.

  “But you must know,” I insisted.

  “He answered the question,” Bertoch stepped in. “Move on.”

  There was a moment of silence while Bertoch and I exchanged angry glares. I sighed, giving Bertoch the apparent win.

  “Let’s talk about Leonardo Bernadi’s shares,” I began. Kurzak shifted in his chair, and I saw his jaw clench for a second. This was the line of questioning he had been dreading. “My understanding is that Leonardo Bernardi had agreed to sell his shares back to the company.”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Kurzak replied.

  “Despite the fact that he’d never expressed any interest in doing so in the past,” I commented.

  “That’s not true,” Kurzak protested. “Leo was always interested in selling his shares. He only held onto them for as long as he did because Anna told him to.”

  “That would be Anna Bernardi, his sister,” I clarified.

  “You know it is,” Kurzak sighed.

  “What prompted Leo to ignore his sister this time and sell his shares?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kurzak snapped. “He always needed money. We just made the right offer at the right time, I suppose.”

  “So, Leo agreed to sell his shares,” I mused. “Whose idea was it to keep that from Anna?”

  “Leo’s,” Kurzak asserted quickly.

  “Did you have any doubts about whether Leo would go through with the sale?” I asked.

  “You could never be certain of anything where Leo was concerned,” Kurzak replied.

  “Is that why you went to Boston?”

  “We felt it might keep things on track,” Kurzak explained. Another round of blinking. It was good a thing Kurzak had decided to go the corporate lawyer route. He had too many tics to survive in litigation.

  “And who is ‘we’?” I prodded.

  “The board,” Kurzak said vaguely.

  “So the board met to discuss the purchase of the shares from Leo Bernardi, and it was decided that you would travel to Boston to ensure that he signed the contract. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Kurzak replied.

  “Did anyone notify Anna Bernardi of this meeting or its purpose?” I continued. Kurzak shot another look at Bertoch, who had stopped doodling long enough to give me a squint. “After all, she holds forty percent of the shares.”

  “I don’t believe she was notified,” Kurzak admitted. “I would have to confirm that.”

  “Are you saying this major decision was made without notifying all of the interested parties?” I demanded.

  “We will have to review the records,” Bertoch said blandly. “It would be unfortunate if she was not notified, but she is not a member of the board, so her presence wasn’t required.”

  “Let’s go back to that trip to Boston,” I suggested as I laid a copy of the signature page from the contract on the table. “This is your signature.”

  “Yes,” Kurzak noted. He barely looked at the document.

  “And this is Leonardo Bernardi’s signature,” I continued.

  “Yes,” Kurzak agreed. His eyes were locked on Bertoch’s notepad, as if the doodles were
the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

  “You know Leo’s signature well enough to recognize it,” I suggested.

  “I’ve known him since he was a child,” Kurzak replied. He finally looked me in the eye with that statement. “Yes, I know what his signature looks like, and that is his signature.”

  “But you didn’t actually see him sign it,” I stated.

  “Mr. Creed--,” Bertoch started to protest.

  “Corporate records will clearly show that the company chartered a flight to Boston on that day,” Kurzak cut in.

  “Oh, yes,” I agreed as I laid out copies of Kurzak’s expenses for that day. “I’ve seen those records. But here’s the thing, your American Express card was used in L.A. that day. There was a stop at a coffee shop near your house and a long lunch at a place near the office. And then, a nice dinner followed by a stay at a very pricey hotel. Your room even had a view of the ocean.”

  Bertoch’s stare was locked on Kurzak, and Kurzak was slowly turning red. The associate looked like he was ready to spring from the chair, but he wasn’t sure what to do after that.

  “My wife uses the American Express card,” Kurzak said defiantly.

  “True,” I replied. “There’s a charge here for a manicure as well, which I’m assuming was hers. Here’s the thing about some of these other charges, though. That lunch shows up in a reimbursement request you put in for with the company. You tagged it as a business lunch with Jack and Artie. And then there’s that dinner and hotel room. The nice folks in both places remember a man matching your description spending the evening with a beautiful young woman, who, judging by the description they gave, is definitely not your wife.”

  Kurzak was crimson now, and I was honestly afraid he was about to have a heart attack. The associate seemed to have the same idea. He was on his feet, phone at the ready.

  “We’re done with this deposition,” Bertoch declared as he stood up.

  “I’m not,” I said as I tried to keep the grin off my face.

  I might have failed.

  “Mr. Kurzak is unwell,” Bertoch snapped. “We will continue this when he’s had time to recover.”