by Lauren Rowe
“Well, if she does, paying off her dad’s mortgage and her student loans won’t fix the problem. Trust can’t be bought.”
I respect Henn’s mind more than anyone’s, probably. He’s a literal genius—the smartest guy I’ve ever met. But this time, he’s dead wrong. “I’m not telling Georgina jack shit about the grant, and she won’t find out about it on her own. But, on the off-chance she does, then she’ll forgive me because, by then, I’ll have gotten her an A-list interview with someone even better than me and I’ll have the information I need to immediately pay off her debts in full, too.” I look at my watch. “I can’t talk about this anymore with you. I’ve got to head to a meeting at my attorney’s office. Thanks for getting me that info. I’ll text you and everyone about a pre-party on Saturday.”
“Hey, Reed. I really think—”
“Drop it, Henn. I’ve got this. I’ll see you on Saturday. Thanks for the favor. Bye.”
Chapter 12
Georgina
Have you ever met some regular, nice person, and instantly connected with them in a genuine, easy way... only to find out later that regular, nice person was actually a big wig? Someone who would have intimidated the heck out of you, if only you’d known? But by then it was too late to feel intimidated. The easy friendship was already formed. The connection made.
Well, that’s what happened when I met Reed’s longtime attorney, Leonard. When I encountered him backstage at the RCR concert last night, he was a sweet older dude in jeans and a Red Card Riot T-shirt who was geeking out over watching his teenage daughter and her friends meet the band. But now that I’m sitting across from Leonard in his sleek office, and I can see the impressive diplomas and framed magazine covers and awards on his walls, I’m realizing he’s actually a big wig. But it’s too late now for me to feel intimidated, because all I see when I look into his smiling face is the sweet, kind dude in jeans and a Red Card Riot T-shirt from last night.
It’s a lucky thing for me, actually. It’s meant I’ve been able to dive right into deftly interviewing Leonard about the legal services his firm provides Reed and Reed’s various businesses, without feeling hampered by nerves.
Unfortunately, though, all good things must come to an end. When the expert witness Reed and Leonard have been waiting on finally arrives, apologizing profusely for her delay due to traffic, it’s time for me to head out and leave the trio to their meeting. She’s the same woman who moderated the panel discussion the other day, though—the dean of UCLA’s music school—so, before heading out the door, I mention I was in attendance at the panel and thoroughly enjoyed it.
“Oh, are you a music student?” she asks.
“No, I just graduated with a degree in journalism.”
Reed pipes in. “Georgie is interning for Rock ‘n’ Roll. She’s been assigned to write an in-depth article about me, so she’s shadowing me this entire week. I’ve been told she’s a brilliant writer. One to watch.”
Goosebumps erupt on my skin, thanks to Reed’s amazing words about me, and his tone while saying them. Oh my gosh. Everything Reed just said makes me want to jump his bones the moment we walk through his front door later tonight!
The woman asks me some polite questions about my internship, which I answer, but, soon, it’s clear I should run along to let them get to work.
“If you’d like a quiet place to work while you wait for Reed, I can set you up in a conference room,” Leonard offers.
“No, thank you,” I say. “I think I’ll head to a coffee place nearby and plan to come back here . . .?”
“In a couple hours or so,” Leonard supplies.
“Perfect. Thank you for all the helpful information, Leonard. It was invaluable to me.”
“It was my genuine pleasure, Georgina. Your questions were thoughtful and full of insight.”
I blush. “Thank you. Please say hello to McKenzie and her adorable friends for me.”
“I will.”
I look at Reed and my heart skips a beat at the twinkle in his brown eyes. “Thank you for letting me tag along today. It’s been so helpful.”
“My pleasure, Georgina. I was also impressed with the questions you asked. CeeCee told me you’re one of the most promising newbies she’s ever had the pleasure to hire—if not the most promising. And I can see why.”
Biting back a massive smile, I grab my laptop, say my last goodbyes, and head out the door. But I’m not going to a coffee place, like I said. I’m heading straight to the courthouse a few blocks away to do a little research. From what Leonard just explained to me about Reed’s legal affairs, combined with something Reed said to me last night, I’ve got a strong hunch there’s a damned good story out there, waiting to be uncovered by the right journalist. I just have to be smart enough, and scrappy enough, to be the one to find it.
Chapter 13
Georgina
While sitting on the courthouse steps with a fish taco, I read the lengthy printout I obtained a few minutes ago from a court clerk inside. Specifically, it’s a list of every lawsuit filed against Reed and his various companies over the past ten years.
The list includes the following basic information about each lawsuit, without providing any details about the facts or specific claims asserted: the plaintiff’s name, the defendants’ names, and the general nature of claims asserted—for example, personal injury, breach of contract, wrongful termination, copyright infringement, etcetera. And, finally, the printout notes the ultimate disposition of the case. For instance, sometimes, judgment was granted, or the case dismissed, by the judge on a motion filed by one of the parties. Occasionally, some of the cases went all the way to trial. And, in rare instances, a given case was dismissed after the parties had reached a confidential settlement.
Of course, it’s only the last category of cases that interest me, the ones Reed, or his particular company, settled, seeing as how Reed told me last night he only settles a case when he believes it has merit. Or, at least, when he thinks a jury would think so.
I pull a yellow highlighter from my computer bag and go down the “ultimate disposition” column, marking all the settled cases. But when I go back up to the top and begin going through my yellow markings, I realize this isn’t the right approach. My search criteria was too broad, resulting in a list of crap I don’t care about in the slightest. A slip-and-fall lawsuit filed against one of Reed’s nightclubs, for instance. Another slip-and-fall against Reed’s real estate holding company, regarding one of his apartment buildings. A lawsuit filed by a guy against the partnership that owns a nightclub Reed co-owns, claiming the guy didn’t get paid his accrued overtime.
Snooze.
Frankly, I don’t know what I’m looking for here. But my gut tells me to keep looking . . .
I pull the cap off a green highlighter pen this time, and decide to go down a different column on the printout. This time, I look at only the yellow-marked cases—the ones Reed’s settled—but mark in green only the ones filed against River Records, specifically, as opposed to one of Reed’s many other businesses. And, lo and behold, when I reach the end of the list this time, and I look at the intersection of my yellow and green markings, I discover the entire universe of cases now only numbers three:
First, a lawsuit filed nine years ago by “ALM Business Properties” against Reed, personally, and River Records, alleging breach of lease. That doesn’t sound particularly sexy to me, but I decide to get a copy of it from the court clerk, nonetheless. Why not?
Second, a lawsuit filed eight years ago by someone named Stephanie Moreland against Reed, personally, and River Records, alleging wrongful termination, breach of contract, and sexual harassment. Whoa. Sexual harassment? Yeah, I’m definitely getting a copy of that one.
And, third, a lawsuit filed six years ago by a guy named Troy Eklund against Reed, personally, and River Records, alleging breach of contract, breach of the implied covenant of good faith and fair dealing, fraud, and assault. Another whoa. Fraud? Assault? Definitely another se
t of documents to order from the court clerk.
I scan the printout one more time, just to be thorough, and then shove my green and yellow highlighters back into my computer bag, throw away the empty wrapper from my delicious fish taco, and race into the courthouse. After making it through security at the front door, and then waiting in line at the clerk’s office, I finally make it to the counter, coincidentally, getting the same guy who helped me with the printout earlier.
“Hello again,” he says, shooting me a wide smile.
“Hello there. I’ve been through the list you gave me and figured out which lawsuits I’d like to copy.” I plop the printout onto the counter between us. “The good news for me is that I only need three lawsuits on this huge list.”
“Easy peasy. I’ll have copies delivered to you in three to five hours. Just fill this out.” He slides a form across the counter to me.
I bite my lip. “Is there any way I could get those records from you now—like, within the next hour?” I lean forward and flash him my most charming smile. “It’d be a huge help to me. My boss said she wants this stuff ‘right away.’ And it’s my first week on the job, so I’d really like to impress her.”
The guy’s eyes flicker to my chest, ever so briefly, before drifting back to my face. “Yeah, okay. But just this once. Don’t tell anyone I bumped you to the front of the queue, okay?”
“I promise. Thank you so much.” I look at his nametag. “Charles. I’m grateful.”
I read off the case numbers of all three cases, and Charles inputs them into his computer.
“You’re in luck. All three cases are here in this building, in storage,” he says. “I’ll just have to go into the records room to grab whatever is there and make copies. It shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes or so, depending on how many documents are in each file.”
“Wow. You’re a life-saver.”
He turns to go.
“Actually, before you go. While I’m waiting, I’d love to look at another printout. This time, regarding all the lawsuits filed against a different defendant.”
“Sure.” He returns to his keyboard. “What’s the defendant’s name?”
“Eleanor Charpentier Rivers.”
It was easy to locate Reed’s mother online this morning. Eleanor Rivers of Scarsdale, New York, whose address matches up with a high-end mental facility in the heart of the posh community. But, other than Eleanor’s full name and address, and a passing reference to her name in a few of the articles written about Reed’s father, I wasn’t able to learn any details about the woman.
“Spelling on Charpentier?” Charles says.
I spell the name for him, and he clacks on his keyboard.
“It looks like there’s only one lawsuit naming Eleanor Rivers or Eleanor Charpentier Rivers as a defendant or respondent. A ‘Dissolution of Marriage and Custody of Minor Child’ case, filed by one Terrence Rivers.”
My heart lurches into my mouth. “Would you add that to my copy order, please? I’d like everything in that case file.”
“Sorry, no can do,” Charles says. “Family law cases are a different animal, stored separately. But since this one was from over ten years ago, I doubt they’d even have it on-site anymore. Plus, since the case involved the custody of a minor child, I’m sure the records would be sealed, anyway.”
“Shoot. I really want to read that one.”
Charles shrugs. “Sorry.”
I twist my mouth, thinking back to what I learned in school. Specifically, a class called Journalism and the Justice System. “Do you think maybe there’s some roundabout way I could get my hands on it? Like, some motion or deposition that might at least refer to it or summarize it?”
Charles considers my question for a long beat before his face lights up. “Hold on. I’ve got an idea.” He clacks on his computer keyboard, and then smiles like a Cheshire cat. “Bingo. I searched for any case involving Eleanor Rivers, even if she was the plaintiff, and hit pay dirt. A year after the dissolution and custody dispute, Eleanor sued her divorce attorney for malpractice.”
I look at Charles blankly, not understanding how this information helps my cause.
Charles smirks. “It means you’re in luck. Apparently, Eleanor didn’t like the result of her divorce and custody battle, and thought her attorney in that case botched the job. So she sued her for malpractice. It’s not guaranteed you’ll get all the details of the underlying divorce and custody dispute by reading the malpractice lawsuit that came a year later, but I’m guessing you’ll at least get the gist.”
“Oh,” I say, a lightbulb going off. “Because, in order to explain how her attorney messed up in the divorce case, Eleanor would have had to summarize that underlying case?”
“Exactly.” He clacks on his keyboard for a moment. “Okay, the malpractice lawsuit is something I can get for you. It’s general civil litigation, not family law. But it was filed twenty-two years ago, so you’ll have to fill out a form for that one, so it can be retrieved from the archives or microfiche, or whatever. You’ll probably have the documents in about a week or so.”
I’m giddy. “Thank you so much, Charles. Oh my gosh. You’re a rock star.”
I fill out the form he gives me, listing the address for delivery of the documents as the offices of Rock ‘n’ Roll—not River Records—even though Owen has kindly set me up with a cubicle down the hallway from him. I don’t know what, of interest, I’m going to find in Eleanor Rivers’ twenty-two-year-old malpractice lawsuit, if anything. But, whatever is in that file, I sure as hell don’t want Reed walking in on me in my cubicle and discovering that I’m reading it.
“Thank you again for all your help, Charles. You’re the best.”
“No problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
When Charles leaves, I take a rickety chair in a corner, pull out my laptop, and make furious notes. But a few minutes into my note-taking, I get a phone call from Reed.
“Why, hello there, Mr. Rivers,” I say.
“Hello there, Miss Ricci. My meeting just ended. Where are you?”
My stomach tightens. “At a coffee place.”
“Which one? I’ll pick you up.”
I glance at the empty spot at the counter, where there’s still no sign of Charles. “Actually, um, the writer assigned as my mentor at Rock ‘n’ Roll—this woman named Zasu—happens to be downtown, so I’m going to hook up with her for a bit. I’ll grab an Uber after that and meet you at your house.”
“I can hang around and do some work in a conference room at Leonard’s, if you won’t be too long. I know you’re excited to sit in on my weekly team meeting.”
“Oh, I am. Will you be having another weekly meeting next Monday?”
“Yes. But won’t that fall outside the week you’ve earmarked for shadowing me? Are you sure you want to keep following me around after your obligatory week is up?”
Reed’s tone is flirty and fun, so I throw back more of the same.
“Hey, whatever it takes to write the best possible article about you, I’m willing to make the sacrifice. Although, to be clear, an extra day of following you around will be a huge sacrifice.”
I can hear his smile across the phone line. “The Intrepid Reporter strikes again.”
My stomach somersaults. I look around the clerk’s office, feeling guilty as hell. But why? I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m only doing exactly what I was hired to do: dig a little deeper. Exactly what Reed knows I was hired to do. I mean, come on, as fun as this surprising romance with Reed is, it’s not like it will lead to anything serious. It’s fun, yes. So fun, it should be illegal. But I can’t let it sidetrack me from my higher purpose, which is writing the most kickass article I can, and getting myself my dream job.
“I think I’ll catch the weekly meeting next week,” I say. “And meet you back at your house later, after I’m done with my work.”
“Okay. Work hard. Play hard. And I’ll do the same.” He chuckles. “Although, I must admit, I’m
gonna have a bitch of a time trying to get you off my mind during my weekly meeting. I could barely do it during my meeting with Leonard and the expert witness.”
My heart skips a beat. He’s so freaking yummy, I can barely stand it. “Yeah, I can honestly say I’ve been thinking about you, pretty much nonstop, since I left Leonard’s office. How was the meeting with the expert, by the way?”
“Couldn’t have gone better. She agrees the copyright infringement lawsuit is total and complete bullshit—nothing but a meritless money-grab by an unscrupulous plaintiffs’ lawyer.”
“Oh, that’s great news.”
“It is. I already knew the lawsuit is bullshit. But the legal system is such a crap shoot sometimes. It’s nice to hear an expert confirm what I already know.”
“I bet. You’ve been sued a lot, huh?”
“Oh, God, Georgie. So many times, I’ve lost count. It would boggle your mind if you saw an actual list of all the times one of my companies has been sued for one thing or another over the years.”
I look down at the printout of lawsuits that’s coincidentally sitting on my lap at this very moment, and my stomach tightens again. Why do I feel like I’m doing something terribly wrong by having this printout? Why do I feel like I’m doing something disloyal by being here at all, and not telling Reed about it? Truly, I need to take a chill pill, keep my eye on the prize, and my mouth shut—at least, for now, until I know what’s in the documents I’ve ordered. For all I know, I’ll read the entire stack and think, Yeah, so what?
“Hey, maybe I should come to the coffee place and meet this other reporter,” Reed says. “I could reschedule my team meeting...”
“No!” I take a deep breath. “Don’t do that. Just go about your normal life. I don’t want to be a disruption.”
He chuckles. “Well, it’s too late for that. You’ve already knocked my world off its axis, Georgina.”
My breathing halts. “You’ve knocked my world off its axis too,” I whisper. I cup my hand to the phone, so nobody else waiting in the clerk’s office will overhear me. “I feel addicted to you, Reed. So horny for you, I think I might be losing my mind.”
