Forty Acres: A Thriller

by Dwayne Alexander Smith

  “Why are you driving like a crazy man?” Anna said.

  “Feels incredible, doesn’t it?”

  “Would you slow down, please?”

  Anna’s tone took Martin off guard. He slowed to the speed limit. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

  Martin didn’t pretend to understand Anna’s myriad moods, three times more than the average woman by his estimate, but he did know when she was itching to talk about something. “I thought you said you had a good time.”

  “I did,” Anna said. “I had a great time.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  Anna hesitated, then said, “What about your civil rights work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Anna sighed. “You know I always support you, right? Your work, I mean.”

  “Of course,” Martin replied. Back when the firm wasn’t earning a penny, it was Anna’s nursing job that paid the bills. Once, when things really looked bleak, Martin and Glen were tempted to close shop and take secure positions at an established firm, but Anna wouldn’t have it. She convinced both Martin and Glen to keep going. Anna had never doubted him or his dream for a second. “You know you’re my rock, baby,” Martin said. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s just . . .” Anna frowned. “You’re so excited about working with these men you’ve met tonight, and a part of me is really happy for you . . . but another part of me is worried that they’re going to take you away from your real work. Do you know what I mean?”

  Martin reached over and took Anna’s hand. There was a time when Martin scoffed at the term soul mate. But that had all changed when he met Anna.

  “Listen,” Martin said. “Tobias and Solomon mentioned that they had a couple cases that they could steer my way. Nothing major, I promise. Besides”—Martin chuckled—“it’s not like the firm is overbooked.”

  “Not now you aren’t. But rich men have rich friends, and their rich friends have rich friends, and once they see how good you are, you won’t have time for anything else.”

  Martin smiled. He hadn’t extrapolated the benefits of the night’s events to that extent, but Anna did have a point. It could happen. If he and Glen played their cards right, in a few years, they could have a five-star client list. “I hope you’re right,” Martin said.

  “What?”

  “Baby, if the firm becomes that big, imagine all the pro bono work that I could do. I could devote an entire floor to nothing but civil rights cases.”

  “Floor?”

  “Have you seen Damon Darrell’s offices?”

  “Martin, I do not want you to turn into Damon Darrell.”

  “Never,” Martin said. “And no matter how big the firm gets, civil rights cases will always be a priority.”

  “You promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to—”

  Anna grabbed his hand. “Stop. You know I hate that. Just promise me. That’s all.”

  “I promise, I promise, I promise. How’s that?”

  Anna smiled and gave Martin a big kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey, hey, I’m driving here.”

  “And I promise,” Anna said, “not to turn into a mannequin with a credit card.”

  “Huh?”

  “Juanita’s really nice, but those other women . . . they’re kinda scary. Seriously.”

  Martin laughed.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Anna said. “I beg you, no crazy rafting trips.”

  Martin gave her a puzzled glance. “How do you know about that?”

  “Juanita told me all about it. Do you know how worried I would be? I wouldn’t sleep a wink the whole time you were gone.”

  “Well, relax, they didn’t invite me. Even if they did, you know I wouldn’t be interested. You know that’s not me.”

  “Not normally,” Anna sighed. “I just have this feeling that after tonight . . . everything will be different.” Then Anna sank back into her seat and stared out at the dark highway.

  CHAPTER 15

  Damon Darrell sat in his wood-paneled study at a cluttered desk typing an email. According to the decorator, the desk was hand carved, extremely rare, and a perfect complement to the room’s imported wood paneling. It was Juanita who had selected the desk, of course. Damon didn’t care about any of that. He was too busy to care. As far as Damon was concerned, any desk that had space for his seventeen-inch Sony VAIO notebook, a telephone, and a sizable mug of coffee was good enough for him.

  As Damon paused to take a sip from his steaming cup, he was surprised to hear a voice behind him. A playful whisper, “Knock, knock.”

  Damon turned and nearly dropped his coffee. Juanita stood framed in the doorway, naked. Juanita was almost forty, but thanks to a personal trainer and a private chef, she had the body of a twentysomething bikini model. Slender legs. Luscious hips. Perfect pert breasts. Cocoa skin so evenly toned that she seemed airbrushed. Nine years of marriage, and Damon was still floored by his wife’s beauty. He beamed as he drank her in. “Guess I don’t have to ask if all the help has left.”

  Juanita shook her head with a naughty smile. “There’s only one thing dirty in this house, and you’re looking at it.” Then Juanita licked her pouty lips.

  Damon responded with a lustful moan. Before he had married Juanita, and even after, Damon had his choice of beautiful women. When you’re rich, famous, and influential, top-shelf pussy isn’t something you look for—it finds you. But with only a handful of exceptions, Damon had steered clear. What set Juanita apart from all the other pretty faces was her unmatched sexual appetite. The woman loved to fuck. Even better, she loved to be fucked good and hard by Damon. Damon knew countless miserable husbands whose sex lives had fallen into a rut or vanished altogether. He didn’t have that problem because making love to Juanita never got old. Unfortunately, tonight Juanita’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Damon had an important phone call to make, one that required complete secrecy. The call was scheduled for two a.m. and it was already two ten. Damon knew that the man waiting for the call would not be happy.

  Juanita deflated when she saw a frown appear on Damon’s face. She knew her husband’s I’m too busy look all too well. “But it’s two in the morning.” She pouted. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Unfortunately, it can’t. I’m sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

  Where some women might feel rejected and react with resentment, Juanita just smiled and said, “Well, try not to work too hard. Good night.” Then she blew Damon a kiss and closed the door behind her. That was one of the things Damon loved most about Juanita. She wasn’t one of those idle women who constantly competed with their husband’s career for attention.

  As it happened, the late-night conference that Damon was about to have had nothing to do with his career or a business deal, but Juanita didn’t need to know that.

  Damon cocked his ear toward the door and listened carefully. When he heard Juanita padding up the winding staircase toward their bedroom, he crossed the study and locked the door. The only reason he’d left the door unlocked in the first place was that he knew Juanita would peek in to say good night before going to bed. He had no idea that she would be in such a playful mood, especially after hosting a dinner party. While Damon was waiting for Juanita to pop in, he had replied to a few unimportant emails and checked the overseas stock quotes. Now that Juanita was headed off to bed and there was no chance of being interrupted, Damon could finally make the scheduled call.

  Damon glanced at the clock. Two fifteen a.m. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Damon hurried back to his computer and clicked on an icon labeled WhispeX. WhispeX was a teleconferencing program with one feature that set it apart from the rest. WhispeX employed an encryption algorithm that, the designer claimed, even the CIA couldn’t crack.

  A large video window bloomed onto the screen. With no active connection, the screen remained dark. In the lower left corner of the windo
w, another box, a quarter the size of the main window, displayed live video of Damon’s face. The existing light was adequate but Damon had to center his image by adjusting the tiny webcam perched on his monitor.

  Damon slipped on a microphone headset, then slid the cursor to a sidebar that featured a contact list of ten buttons. Nine of these buttons were labeled with a contact’s name. Solomon, Kwame, Tobias, and Carver were among the names listed. One button was different from the rest. The very first button at the top of the list was labeled not with a name, just a number and a letter: 40A. Damon clicked the first button.

  Connecting flashed in the main video window and the computer speakers issued a series of low electronic tones. The beeping ceased and the stern face of a black man filled the main window. Oscar Lennox’s shaved head and meticulously groomed goatee gave him a striking look, but it was Oscar’s eyes that wielded the fire. Two piercing gray orbs that seemed to see all and rarely blinked. Even through the monitor, Damon thought that Oscar’s stare was more than a bit unnerving.

  “You’re late, brother,” Oscar said, in a deep, calm voice.

  “Juanita’s party ran a bit later than expected,” Damon explained. “I apologize.”

  Oscar nodded. “Understandable. Now what about the prospect?”

  “He did well. Better than expected, in my opinion.” Damon wasn’t surprised that Oscar had jumped right to the chase. Oscar wasn’t one for small talk. He was never rude, but he wasn’t what you would call amiable either. He was all business all the time and never missed a trick—which made him perfect for the position that he held.

  “And the others,” Oscar asked. “Are you all in agreement?”

  “Yes,” Damon said.

  Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lewis as well?”

  Damon frowned. “Carver doesn’t like anyone but Carver. You know that. But yes, he did agree to proceed to the next step.”

  Oscar’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Really. Tell me Mr. Lewis’s thoughts—exactly.”

  “For what reason? I just told you, Carver agreed with the rest of us to move forward.”

  Oscar did not respond. He just stared at Damon from the video screen.

  “Sorry,” Damon said with a frown. He regretted that he had even asked the question in the first place. Oscar Lennox was Dr. Kasim’s personal assistant and, more importantly, the doctor’s spokesman in the outside world. Oscar was to be trusted, no questions asked. “I meant no disrespect,” Damon tried to explain. “I just don’t want to lose a solid prospect because of one irrational kid.”

  Oscar frowned, ever so slightly. “You might not think much of the young man’s opinion, brother,” he said, “but the doctor views Mr. Lewis’s suspicious nature as an asset to our security. Now, do you have Mr. Lewis’s card?”

  Damon nodded and removed four business cards from the center desk drawer. Kwame, Tobias, Carver, and Solomon had each jotted down their individual impressions of the prospect on the back of their business cards, then surreptitiously slipped the cards to Damon before calling it a night. This was the secret voting method they always used. A little awkward, but simple and immediate.

  Carver’s card, with its full-color glossy finish, was the flashiest of the four. Damon flipped the card over and read aloud what Carver had written. “White partner could be trouble. Watch him carefully.” Damon then held the card up in front of the webcam to allow Oscar to read it himself. “That’s it. That’s all Carver wrote.”

  Oscar frowned and thought a moment. Finally he looked back at Damon. “Dr. Kasim also has concerns about Mr. Grey’s partner, as you know. But you don’t?”

  “Means nothing,” Damon said. “I have a few white attorneys on staff as well. It’s good for business and keeps up appearances.”

  “It’s their friendship that mostly concerns the doctor.”

  “Of course. To be thorough I had Mr. Grossman surveilled for the last few days, physically and digitally. No red flags. Beyond their business relationship there’s no substantial ties between the two. At least nothing compared to what we offer.”

  Oscar nodded. “That’s good.”

  “He’s young, smart, conscious, and his future, financially speaking, is limitless. Martin Grey is the strongest prospect that we’ve seen in a while. He’s exactly the kind of man we need to keep what we have alive.”

  Oscar’s video visage just watched Damon a moment, as if he were able to peer into Damon’s soul from two thousand miles away. “Dr. Kasim trusts your instincts,” Oscar finally said. “Feel free to move forward.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I caution you, brother. Dr. Kasim does not want any mistakes. Not like the last prospect.”

  Damon nodded. “I understand.”

  “Use the best people. Double-check everything, then check a third time.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Dr. Kasim looks forward to meeting your Mr. Grey,” Oscar said without even a hint of emotion. Then the encrypted teleconferencing connection winked out.

  CHAPTER 16

  Okay, how was it?” Glen asked, breezing into Martin’s office and plopping down in a chair. “I want to hear everything that happened.”

  Martin set aside the trial transcript that he was reviewing. “It was fun. A lot of fun.”

  Glen frowned. “Come on, you can do better than that. I’ve been waiting all morning to hear this.”

  After Damon’s party Friday night the rest of Martin’s weekend was uneventful. When he returned to the office Monday morning, there was a significant uptick in new consultation requests, a direct result of the firm’s recent victory.

  Their two paralegals, Akiko and Meg, fielded the extra calls with ease, allowing Martin and Glen to get back to business as usual. They rarely took lunch breaks, but around noon there was usually a lull. That was when Glen found the opportunity to grill Martin about the party.

  Martin threw up his hands. “What do you want me to tell you? Damon’s house was amazing. The food was unbelievable.”

  “No, no, no. Who was there? Any possible future clients with bottomless pockets?”

  Martin ran down the list of guests. With each name Glen’s eyes grew wider and wider. “Solomon Aarons too? What was he like?”

  “Brilliant,” Martin replied. “You can sense it. Like an old wise man.”

  Glen nodded, then, struck with a thought, he said, with a huge grin, “Ooh, now I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “All the guests at Damon’s party were African American. Come on, you had to notice that.”

  “I did. So?”

  “So, don’t you get it? That’s probably the real reason Damon didn’t invite me. Lisa and I would’ve been the only white couple there.”

  Martin was about to deny it, but he couldn’t. Up until that moment Martin hadn’t made the connection between the power chat in Damon’s game room and Glen’s exclusion from the party—not explicitly, but now, hearing it aloud, Martin saw it clearly.

  Glen shrugged it off. “Hey, I don’t think Damon did it maliciously or anything. He probably just didn’t want us to feel awkward. Know what I mean?”

  Martin felt a twinge of guilt as he nodded in agreement. “Sure. I guess that’s possible.”

  “So what did all you big shots talk about?” Glen asked.

  Martin tensed. It wasn’t that he feared that anything discussed would upset Glen—in fact Martin was pretty sure that Glen would agree with most of what was said. What kept Martin silent was his promise. He gave his word to a roomful of very powerful men to keep their discussion private, and he wasn’t about to break it. That and the fact that Glen was terrible at keeping his mouth shut.

  Martin said, “We just discussed the case mostly.”

  Glen looked doubtful. “Come on. All those power brokers under one roof. They had to talk about more than just your case. Give it up, partner.”

  One of the attributes that made Glen a great lawyer was his tenacity. Once Glen latched onto some
thing, he shook and shook until he ripped it apart. Martin realized that if he didn’t distract his partner with something juicy, Glen would be drilling him for details about the party for weeks. “Actually,” Martin said, “Tobias Stewart and Kwame Jones expressed interest in steering some business our way.”

  Glen’s eyes lit up like a tot’s on Christmas morning. “Bingo! Now that’s what I wanted to hear.”

  Martin laughed.

  “Martin, do you know what this means?”

  “Slow down,” Martin cautioned. “Nothing’s certain yet. Could just be party talk.”

  “Either way, we have to be prepared, right? I mean, if those heavy hitters see this dump, they could get second thoughts. Martin, come on, it’s time.”

  Glen had been pushing for a new office for over a year, but Martin insisted on waiting until the firm’s finances were more certain. With the fat contingency check on the way and the very real potential of landing two huge clients, it appeared that the time had finally arrived. “I think you’re right.” Martin nodded. “We’ll start looking for a place tomorrow.”

  “Yes!” Glen slapped Martin high five. “Damon Darrell is all right with me. I mean, he had to realize that this could happen if he invited you into his circle. We’re talking primo contacts here.”

  Martin shrugged. “Damon’s plate is full, I’m sure.”

  Glen snorted. “Yeah, more like a huge serving platter.”

  Akiko’s voice blared from the phone on Martin’s desk. “You have Damon Darrell on line two.”

  Martin and Glen exchanged a look. Glen gestured to the phone with a little flourish. “Speak of the devil and he comes calling.”

  Martin stared at the flashing line two button, reluctant to take the call with his partner listening in. If Damon brought up anything discussed in the game room, things could get awkward.