A nurse came in with medications. Ian stood while she gently cajoled his passive mother to take the pills. She settled Martha back on the pillow and left the room.
There was a knock on the door the moment the nurse left. Brook stepped into the room with a scolding look. “You’re not supposed to be walking so far.”
It was so good to see her. “Apparently I come from a long line of overachievers.”
“No response yet?”
He shook his head. “But I think she notices the flowers.”
“That’s good.”
“They’re letting me out the middle of this week.”
“That’s also good,” Brook said. “Hey, I got a text from Sophie that Rory’s going to testify against Callahan and McMartin—including on the murder charge. He’s doing it for a reduced charge for his daughter. Not for Liam. Just Maureen.”
“Yeah, I heard something about that too,” Ian said. “I’m the one who got Harry to represent him.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Didn’t see it coming, but it doesn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah. I’m going to owe Harry for this. Seems like I’ve gone into debt to a lot of people lately.”
Brook smiled. “I resigned,” she said flatly. “Left the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
That came as a blow. “I’m sorry, Brook. This is my fault. They didn’t ask you to leave, did they?”
“No. Other than Chloe—who’s almost begging to wash my car—only Eldon really suspects I was helping you. Don’t feel bad. I’m glad I did what I did, but I couldn’t stay on after the decisions I had to make. Doesn’t mean I’d make different ones, though.”
“I’m sorry. I know you loved that job.”
She shook her head. “I really, really liked the job. It’s the people I worked with I loved. Finding a replacement for that won’t be easy. Have you decided what you’re going to do with your practice?”
“I’m done with the old office. I’m not renewing the lease when Dennis moves out in a couple of weeks. Besides, it’s time I refocused. I’m done with estate plans and trusts.”
“So, what’s next?”
“I have a thought about that. We can talk about it later.”
They grew quiet once more. Brook glanced at the side table, where a deck of cards lay. She picked them up. “How about a game of gin?”
For the briefest moment, from the corner of his eye, Ian thought he saw his mother’s eyelids flutter. If so, she’d stopped when he looked fully at her face.
Smiling, he sat back down on the end of the bed. “Deal. If you’ve got the courage.”
49
THURSDAY, JUNE 28
11:22 A.M.
CARIBOU COFFEE, RICHFIELD
SUBURBAN MINNEAPOLIS
Katie sat across from Ian at a table near the back of the coffee shop. Ian was pleased she’d agreed to see him today, after taking the last few weeks off to “think things over.”
The mug in front of her was still full, though no longer steaming. Ian wondered how long they would keep the silence.
“So, the family’s okay?” Ian finally asked. “Nicole? Richard?”
“They’re fine,” she said quietly. “How about Martha?”
“Still healing, but still unresponsive. Adrianne’s with her now. She’s optimistic we can draw her out.”
“Um-hm. That’s good. Martha will love having Adrianne around.”
“Thanks for the flowers,” Ian added. “I noticed the lilies.”
Katie looked up, surprised. “You’re welcome.”
Another long silence passed. Katie’s eyes began to rim with tears. “Your mother was there, Ian,” she burst out. “She was there when they killed my dad.”
It was out at last. “I know,” Ian replied.
“How could they keep that from me all these years? I thought they cared about me. Now I know they were just easing their own consciences.”
Every notion about how he’d handle this conversation, all his practice as an advocate, fled from Ian’s mind. “You know I wasn’t aware of any of it when I started at the law firm, don’t you? Even when I saw the old newspaper about the art robbery they’d packed with the crew’s tools, it didn’t occur to me the security guard could be your father. I only started figuring it out when I got back from Florida, but there wasn’t a time or place to talk with you about it.”
“I don’t blame you, Ian. But I had a right to know.”
“Me too,” Ian said softly. “They were wrong not to tell either of us. But for what it’s worth, I’m convinced they genuinely thought they could do more by supporting you and your family and keeping the secret than by turning Mom in. At least until the time was right.”
Katie looked thoughtful for a long while. “I never thought about how this affected you.” She picked up her lukewarm coffee. “I don’t remember enough about my dad,” she said. “I’ve got memories that he was kind. He was hardworking—doing his job, then taking on other work like the kind that got him killed. But I didn’t get to finish growing up with him. At least you had that.”
Ian felt he was the wrong one to make the next point. “It’s not much consolation, Katie, but I think Dad and Mom were trying to make that part up to you too. They loved you. They really did. Mom still does.”
Katie ran a hand across her eyes. Ian handed her a paper napkin.
“I can remember your dad interviewing me. I was all of eighteen and so nervous. He was asking me questions that had nothing to do with my typing speed or what I knew about a law office—which was slow and nothing. Had I traveled? What made me happy? Did I think I had a promising future ahead? Was I happy?—again. How was my mother making ends meet? All I’m thinking is, What am I doing here? If the high school counselor hadn’t dragged me to the interview, saying your dad was looking for people without experience, I never would’ve thought about a career as a legal assistant.”
“He wasn’t looking for people,” Ian said. “He had only one person in mind.”
Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. He slid it across the table.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The amount of the check Lloyds will be issuing you.”
“The insurance company? Why? Why would Lloyds send me money?”
“Lloyds insured the stolen paintings. After paying off the art owners thirty-four years ago, they had a ‘no questions asked’ reward for the return of any of the Norman Rockwells. It was never rescinded. Part of our deal with the U.S. Attorney’s Office was that we got the credit for the last painting’s return.”
“I don’t want more money, Ian. You keep it.”
“I couldn’t keep it. And my parents wouldn’t have wanted me to. If you don’t want it, give it away. Or give the money to your daughter. But take it. Besides the job support through the years, I think getting you a final payout is the only other reason my parents didn’t turn themselves in sooner. I’m not talking about this reward for the painting. But I think they’d decided to give you the two-hundred-thousand-dollar fee for the trust work when it was distributed. After that, I’m betting they would have turned themselves in and taken the rest of the crew with them.”
Katie stared at the slip of paper. “It’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah. But if you’re still looking for work, I’ve been doing some research. I may have an option.”
“If I take this, you have to let me use some of it for Martha’s care. I want to settle that stupid malpractice case as well.”
“Don’t worry about the lawsuit. Harry told me he’d represent me on the malpractice case at a cut rate. As for Martha, we can talk about that later.”
Ian rose to his feet. Katie stood too and gave him a long, tight hug. “I love you, Ian Wells.”
“Love you too,” he said.
She pulled away and wiped her mascara-blackened eyes one more time. “As slow as you can be, hon, I hope you’re smart enough to have figured out I’m not the only one feeling that way.”
<
br /> Epilogue
TUESDAY, JULY 17
2:00 P.M.
JARED NEATON LAW OFFICE
MINNEAPOLIS
Ian looked past the end of the conference room table, taking in the rest of the small law office visible through the glass. The place wasn’t ostentatious. Not the kind of office designed to wow clients with thousands of dollars of art. But it was functional, focused, a place where things got done. He liked the solid sense of that.
He glanced at Brook at his elbow. In her eyes he could read a similar positive reaction.
“What do you think about our suggestion?” Brook asked.
Seated across from them, Jared Neaton looked up from their proposal in his hand. Like the office itself, the attorney struck Ian as the pragmatic type. A few years older than him, Ian had been hearing for some time about the lawyer’s growing reputation for civil litigation.
“Well, like we’ve been telling you all week,” Neaton observed, “we weren’t in the market to grow the firm. But a criminal law practice would complement our civil work. You two have very impressive credentials. And the deal’s fair.”
“When I was looking around,” Ian said, “I thought of you and how you handled the Paisley, Bowman, Battle and Rhodes firm a few years back.”
Jared smiled. “Not a fan of big firms?”
“Not my first choice for a career anymore,” Ian answered truthfully.
“What do you think, Jessie?” Jared asked, turning to the slender, pretty woman at his side. She smiled with discerning eyes.
Jared’s wife and legal assistant, Jessie had been in on every meeting and conversation they’d had about this merger over the whole of the past week. It had taken a few days of talks before Ian realized Jared wouldn’t even consider the merger without her complete comfort, advice, and assent.
Though she’d been amiable all week, today Jessie was all business. She set her copy of the proposal on the table and leaned forward, aiming her response at Brook. “Seems like it could work out well. So tell me, are there any ghosts in the closet likely to come back to haunt us?”
Ian felt a chill at the nature of the question. Apart from the irony, it wasn’t an area he was prepared to elaborate on. While sitting next to his sleeping mother in the hospital, he’d sworn that the trust and his parents’ role in it would not be going public. In fact, his anonymity with the press had been a critical element in the settlement Harry finalized with Eldon Carroll’s office. If he was forced to testify, his role would become public record. Short of that, it stayed in the background—for his mother and father’s reputations even more than his own.
Still, Jessie’s question hung in the air, spreading serious discomfort. “Actions have consequences.” The words drifted silently back to him, spoken in Martha’s convicting tone. What would he do when the tab came due from Anthony Ahmetti? What other consequences awaited from his family’s past?
Ian saw Brook’s chin drop briefly at Jessie’s question, a subtle sign she felt the struggle as well. But she recovered instantly.
“We’re good,” he heard her say. “Right, Ian?”
“Yep,” Ian responded immediately, knowing he’d make it true.
Brook turned the question back on their hosts. “How about you two?”
Jared smiled slowly, following with an equally slow shake of his head. “Nothing to share from our end either,” he said.
Jessie stood and extended a hand across the table. Jared followed suit.
“Sounds like we’ve got a deal,” she said. “Partners.”
And they shook on it.
Acknowledgments
Thanks again to my fabulous wife, Catherine, for her support of a two-career husband and for her critical editorial eye. Thanks to Libby for patiently listening to her father’s chapters as they unfold, and to Ian—the namesake for this book—who does the same whenever his own writing permits. Thanks also to Elizabeth Carlson and Stephanie Mullaney for helping me navigate the shoals of social media.
My appreciation as well to Luke Hinrichs for his excellent editorial reviews and suggestions.
And once again, a special thanks to the readers who keep the art of book-writing alive.
Todd M. Johnson, author of Critical Reaction and The Deposit Slip, has practiced as an attorney for over thirty years, specializing as a trial lawyer. A graduate of Princeton University and the University of Minnesota Law School, he also taught for two years as adjunct professor of International Law and served as a U.S. diplomat in Hong Kong. He lives near Minneapolis with his wife, his son, Ian, and his daughter, Libby. Learn more at authortoddmjohnson.com.
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
Website: www.bethanyhouse.com
Facebook: Bethany House
Twitter: @Bethany House
Fatal Trust Page 27
