“I’m in favor of that.”
“I also want to talk to you about some new business.”
“I’m not sure that’s being realistic.”
“Please, can we get together for lunch?”
“I was supposed to start a trial today, but it’s been adjourned until after Thanksgiving.”
“Is the Regency at one p.m. okay for you?”
“Yes. Will anyone be joining us?”
“No, just you and I.”
—
After going through her accumulated email, Beth returned a phone call that had come in late yesterday from the attorney representing MetLife. She agreed to his request for an additional month to answer the Talcourt complaint. In return, he agreed to let her inspect the Sloane file, so she made an appointment to go to his office.
She was looking forward to today’s lunch with Leung for the chance to resolve the malpractice claim and perhaps learn what he really wanted. The chance of new business was remote but not impossible. When she told Clifford about the date, he approved the idea, although he wasn’t pleased when she mentioned it would take place at C.K.’s hotel. “Be very circumspect and careful,” were his parting words to her.
At twelve forty-five p.m., she took a cab to the Regency and entered the lobby through the revolving door. At the front desk, she announced herself to the clerk and asked him to notify Leung of her arrival. While he did, she crossed the white marble floor to the other side of the lobby and sat on a cushioned settee positioned to see the bank of elevators in front of her. The hushed pace of activity was enhanced by the Baroque chamber music being filtered softly through the lobby’s sound system.
She stood up a few minutes later when she saw Leung get out of the elevator and walk toward her. He greeted her again with a kiss on the cheek and a handshake.
“I am glad that you could come over,” he said to her.
“Good to see you again.”
“One slight problem,” he then said. “An overseas emergency blew up an hour ago and I’m expecting several important phone calls. I had my secretary arrange our lunch in my suite. I hope you don’t mind.”
“As a matter of fact, I do mind. You should have called.”
“I thought you’d accommodate me since we do have confidential business of our own to discuss. I dislike doing that in a restaurant.”
“I understand that, but we do have conference rooms at my office and we have complete privacy there. We handle sensitive matters for clients throughout the world.”
At that point, C.K. smiled apologetically and offered to move the meeting to her office if she felt uncomfortable. Beth took that as a challenge, accepted the imposition, and told him his suite would do for a working lunch. She then called Carmen with the change of plans and told her she’d be back in the office by two thirty.
They got out on C.K.’s floor, and the door to his suite was held open for them by a woman in a pale green silk cheongsam whom C.K. introduced as his “secretary.” He then motioned Beth to a couch in the middle of the room, but she chose an upholstered armchair next to one of the room’s three windows. It might be melodramatic paranoia, but her back was covered and her view of the room was clear.
Besides the closed bedroom door off to her left, she could see a separate enclosed kitchen off to the right-hand side of the suite. Through the open kitchen door, she noticed a chef preparing food. There was a circular dining table at one end of the sitting room that had been set with four place settings. She, C.K., and maybe his secretary were three, she thought, wondering who and where number four might be.
“I thought you said it was just us at this meeting?” she asked C.K.
“Just one newcomer I hadn’t expected, but he is on our side, so no need for concern.”
Before sitting down, C.K. turned his back to Beth for a moment while he opened up a zippered tan leather briefcase lying on top of the walnut wet bar and took out a folder. “This is the new matter I mentioned to you yesterday,” he said, turning back to face her. He walked over to where she was sitting, handed her the papers, and sat on the couch. “We hope your firm will be able to handle it for us.”
Beth looked briefly through the papers and then at C.K. as he started to talk. “As you can see, we are interested in acquiring a company that owns and operates a large chain of upscale motels in the Northeast.”
“It looks very interesting,” she commented while starting to mentally envision the mammoth size of the transaction and the fees it would generate.
“What you have is the proposed contract of sale the seller delivered here yesterday,” he said, indicating the papers in Beth’s hands.
“We can handle the legal end for you, provided you are ready to release your Jasco claim against us,” she said calmly. “We have excellent people to handle all aspects of the transaction, real estate, corporate, and tax.”
“Excellent. Take the contract back to your office and give me an estimate of your legal fees after you’ve had a chance to review it.”
“I’ll get back to you first thing next week.”
“Excellent.”
“I’m sure we can work out a satisfactory arrangement.”
“I know we can.”
“Now what about the Jasco matter?” Beth asked. “We need to get that out of the way first.”
“Good. What can we do about it?”
“You just need to release us. I’m sure you’ve been advised by your own attorneys that we have no liability.”
“Of course. Otherwise we wouldn’t be discussing new business.”
“I understand that you have been in contact with our insurance company.”
“We have, but unfortunately, their reaction time is slow, and we would like to resolve the matter more expeditiously.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I thought that perhaps you might be able to encourage faster action by the insurance company. We would consider a further reduction of our claim in exchange for a decision before I return to Taiwan this weekend.”
“How much were you thinking about?” she asked impassively. It was obvious that C.K. was dangling the motel fee as a carrot for her cooperation in getting the malpractice insurer to pay off on his claim.
“I will be very candid with you, Beth. We will accept 2.5 million dollars, provided I have their approval before I leave. That is probably about what it will cost the insurance company to defend our suit. The figure is non-negotiable.”
“Well, I think it’s high for a baseless claim, but I’ll call the insurance company when I get back to the office.”
“Now, there is one other thing—” He stopped in midsentence as the bedroom door opened and a heavyset man wearing a rumpled light gray pinstripe suit came out, followed by Leung’s secretary.
Beth was not completely surprised to see that someone else besides C.K.’s secretary had been in the bedroom all along. This phantom was apparently going to be number four at the table, although she had been led to believe that number four would arrive from outside the suite. His presence confirmed her impression of Leung. Secrecy and surprise were his modus operandi. Truth was irrelevant unless it suited his convenience.
“Yes? What is it?” she asked C.K., continuing the conversation while waiting to be introduced to the newcomer.
“What happened last summer with Leonard Sloane was not your fault,” C.K. said, ignoring the newcomer while shifting tactfully to a subject sensitive to Beth.
“I know that, and I’m glad you know it too.” She was reluctant to talk about a confidential matter with C.K. in front of this other man, who was standing patiently by the bedroom doorway, brushing off the lapels of his suit jacket.
“If we thought your firm had been involved in any way, we would have taken appropriate steps to remedy it, and I can assure you that I wouldn’t be sitting here with you today discussing this new venture.”
“I realize that,” Beth said, all the more curious about the other man present in the room w
ith them.
“What happened was not your fault, and what’s to be done about it is not your problem either,” C.K. continued.
“I’m not exactly sure what you’re driving at now.” She stood up, irritated about this unidentified stranger still standing quietly in the doorway leading from the bedroom.
“We are doing whatever needs to be done to recover the money,” C.K. said.
“We assumed as much last month when you asked only that the fees be returned. By the way, I haven’t been introduced to this gentleman yet”—indicating the man in the doorway.
“Forgive my poor manners. This is Dieter Rheinhartz. He is helping us recover the money Sloane stole from us.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Rheinhartz. I didn’t realize you were in the other room,” Beth said in a rebuke intended for C.K.
“The pleasure is mine,” Dieter said. He sat down heavily on the large couch, within easy reach of the hors d’oeuvres.
“My name is Elisabeth Swahn,” she added as the realization struck her that Rheinhartz must be the same man Bob told her had visited him in Providence. He obviously had nothing to do with Bob’s insurance claim. He had been working for C.K., which meant C.K. knew all about the lawsuit against MetLife.
“Mr. Rheinhartz was working with my assistant in the other room,” C.K. said. “I apologize for not telling you of his presence before,” he added, acknowledging the cause of Beth’s anger.
“I was concerned about the attorney-client privilege being waived by the presence of an outsider.”
“I appreciate your concern for protecting our confidences. However, we may talk freely in front of Mr. Rheinhartz. We have complete confidence in his discretion.”
“Well then, perhaps you’d be willing to clarify the implication behind your repeated emphasis on statements about our not getting involved in the recovery of the money,” she said to C.K. calmly but firmly. “Particularly since we haven’t been involved in it.”
“You have been involved, however,” Rheinhartz interjected contentiously, entering into the conversation for the first time. “You are representing Sloane’s son in a lawsuit against his father’s life insurance company.”
“That suit is a matter of record,” she said. “I obviously cannot discuss anything with you that involves another client, but I can tell you that the suit has nothing whatsoever to do with any efforts to recover the money Sloane stole. It involves a life insurance policy, nothing more, nothing less. And, Mr. Rheinhartz,” she said, moving onto the attack now, “I’d appreciate it if in the future you would avoid having any direct contact with Mr. Talcourt, regardless of what alias you’re using at the time.”
“I apologize for that, Miss Swahn. I spoke to Mr. Talcourt before I was aware of your representation.”
“And you also told him you were from the insurance company, didn’t you?” Beth continued.
“Correct me if I am wrong, Beth,” C.K. said to her before Rheinhartz had a chance to answer. “Isn’t it necessary to prove Sloane is dead in order to recover?”
“Or at least produce enough evidence to create a presumption of death.”
“Sloane is dead,” C.K. said, “and his body will never be recovered.” His tone of voice left no doubt as to the finality of his conclusion.
“Indeed!” Beth agreed, avoiding a hallelujah for emphasis.
“I believe that is Mr. Leung’s point,” Rheinhartz said. “Your lawsuit will force the insurance company to prove that Sloane is alive.”
“That is the idea,” Beth said confidently.
“We would prefer not to encourage any investigation of Sloane’s death,” C.K. said to her. “We have made our own investigation and are satisfied that he and Miss Crossland are dead.”
“I’ll represent Sloane’s son just as I represent every client,” Beth responded emphatically. “He’s entitled to the best case I can develop, but if you would care to share your findings, perhaps the matter can be expedited.” She remained firm against this two-pronged attack launched by C.K. and Rheinhartz.
“I appreciate your dedication, but we are asking you to put an end to this,” C.K. said, sidestepping her request.
“Well, then we’re in agreement, because we both want to be finished as quickly as possible,” she said. “I think we’re clear on each other’s positions.”
“Miss Swahn,” Rheinhartz said, shifting to a new facet of the same subject, “why is your stepfather working with you on the insurance case?”
“What’s my stepfather got to do with this?” she asked casually, not liking this man very much, to say the least.
“What we find confusing, Beth,” C.K. said, “is why he seems to be conducting his own investigation down in the Caribbean.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant.
“On November third…,” Rheinhartz said, now reading authoritatively from a small notebook, “Max Swahn visited Blue Lagoon Charters and the United States Coast Guard in San Juan regarding the disappearance of Satin Lady.”
“That was two weeks ago. I have no idea if or why he was there.” She dismissed the information with a wave of her hand, treating it like so much trivia.
“We know why he was there,” C.K. replied. “The point is that there is no need for any further efforts to be made by anyone toward locating Sloane. He is dead and eventually we will recover the money he stole.”
“You gentlemen are forgetting one thing,” Beth said, controlling her rising anger. “I have a client’s interests to protect, even if it’s only for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“The insurance claim is of no interest to me,” C.K. said dispassionately, his voice as steel gray as his suit, unwilling to entertain any contradiction from Beth.
“Metropolitan Life will eventually pay you something just to get rid of the case,” Rheinhartz added. “They will not want to spend any money on an extensive investigation.”
“Maybe so,” she continued adamantly, “but that doesn’t change the fact that Leonard Sloane and his girlfriend used me for their scam. My investigation will end when I am satisfied and not until!” Beth resisted the urge to just stand up and leave. She was not about to be told that her personal honor and professional integrity were less important than C. K. Leung’s money and power.
“We understand that this is a matter of honor for you, Beth,” C.K. said, now respectful, “but it is a matter of honor for the Leung family also, and you must not interfere with our efforts.” He was leaving no room for compromise or doubt as to his position.
“Your efforts to find Sloane or your efforts to recover the seventy million dollars?” she asked, making no effort to mask the sarcasm in her voice.
“The money is our only interest now,” C.K. said. “I have told you we are satisfied that Leonard and his woman died in the boat accident.”
“But your actions belie your words,” she probed.
“Sloane was able to steal seventy million dollars from my family because we placed our trust in him and he abused that trust,” C.K. said. “I must emphasize that because Sloane is dead, recovering that money is the only way available for us to restore our honor.”
“Then just tell me how you’re so sure he’s dead?”
“Because we were able to locate Satin Lady,” Rheinhartz answered dramatically, provoked by Beth, ignoring the angry glare the disclosure brought to Leung’s eyes.
“You salvaged Satin Lady?” she asked C.K., hardly controlling her amazement at learning the size of the resources he must have committed to the investigation.
“There was no need to salvage her,” C.K. said, continuing what Rheinhartz had started, his eyes, however, still reflecting his displeasure. “We simply located her and had a diver go down to identify the wreck. The water was not particularly deep.”
“Were there any bodies on board?” she asked them both.
“None were seen, but we did not expect to find any,” Rheinhartz continued. “I would imag
ine that predators disposed of them within a few days.”
“You’re probably right,” she said to him after some hesitation, calm enough now to try to end the discussion without any more of a breach in the relationship. She turned toward Leung again and said, “Look, C.K., I know that you’re an innocent victim here, but both of our families have honor to restore.” She saw C.K. nod in agreement while Rheinhartz sat silently in his chair, smiling smugly as she spoke.
“If our relationship is to survive this terrible theft,” Beth continued, using courtroom rhetoric to emphasize her sincerity, “you and I cannot fall prey to the deceit and mistrust engendered by the legacy of Leonard Sloane. I do not understand why my investigation will conflict with your efforts at recovery.” She paused for effect. “But I will respect your request to the extent that I can.”
“It gives me great pleasure to hear you say that, Beth,” C.K. said, apparently satisfied with her position. “You have confirmed what I already knew from your victory in the Jasco case. You have a maturity beyond your years.”
“Thank you,” she replied, still resisting a walkout on these two sharks without another word.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Rheinhartz said a moment later, “I would like to stay for lunch, but I am late for another appointment.” He got up, brushed himself off, and went into the bedroom. He reappeared with his overcoat and shoulder bag, passed by Leung without shaking hands, and went directly over to Beth. Leung turned his back to Rheinhartz and followed his secretary into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
“Goodbye, Mr. Rheinhartz,” Beth said to him as she got up from her chair, the two of them now alone.
“Goodbye, Miss Swahn. I hope you didn’t take anything I said personally. I find you a remarkable young lady and an extremely competent attorney,” he said with complete sincerity.
“Well, thank you,” she said.
“Here is my card,” Rheinhartz said quietly, handing her a business card as he opened the door. “Be careful with these Chinese and call me if I can be of any assistance.” He left without further word and shut the door behind him. Beth put the card in the pocket of her suit jacket without looking at it. At the same time, C.K. came back into the room and he and Beth sat down for lunch.
Noble Chase Page 11
