by Scott Turow
"Assuming they' have not obtained this check already," said Stern.
"Where would they get it?" "It is possible, of course, that this was what they were llooking for with their subpoenas to your bank."
Absorbing that thought, Dixon proceeded to the obvious: Why bother with the safe if they could already establish Dixon's control of the Wunderkind account? Tactics, Stern explained. Proof that Dixon was withholding documents would provide compelling evidence of his guilty frame of mind.
"You mean I've fallen into their trap?" Dixon asked. "In all likelihood,, said Stern. He had his hands folded: He was relentlessly composed. He had never given a better performance. Dixon, in the meantime, stroked his chin thoughtfully. He sighed, pulled his nose; he shook his head."
"You think I should plead guilty, don't you? That's what you said last time."
"If one is guilty, that is always an alternative that merits serious consideration,.."
"So what'll happen to me? What kind of deal can you cut?"
"The usual wisdom is to attempt to buy freedom. Negotiate for a heavy financial penalty and a lesser prison "How much time?"
"These days? With the federal sentencing guidelines, probably three years."
"And when do I get paroled?"
"There is no longer parole in the federal systems' ' ' 'Jesus.,' ' "Very harsh,"
"And I voted Republican," said Dixon. He smiled stiffly.
"How much do I have to give them to get this three-year bargain?"
"One can only estimate, Dixon. Certainly millions. God only knows how much Stan Sennett will want you to forfeit.
Probably some large portion of the value of your interest in MD. It will be very costly."
"Hmm." Again he gripped his chin and, unpredictably, smiled. "They can't forfeit whatthey can't find, can they?"
This thought, of what was hidden in the Caribbean, seemed to fortify Dixon for a moment. Silvia would be well provided for. Stern saw his logic.
Dixon lit a cigarette.
"If you do not mind, Dixon, it would give me a better sense of our negotiating position if I had an idea of what actually transpired."
"You already know," he said, but ran through it quickly: how he was informed of large orders to be executed in Chicago and immediately called the central order desk to place front-running trades in Kindle.
He described his use of the house error and Wunderkind accounts to gather and shelter the profits. "Pretty fucking clever," concluded Dixon, "if I do say so myself."
"What about that account, Dixon-Wunderkind? What was that?"
"Just a corporate account. I'd had it set up for this."
"And what was John's role in all of this?"
"John? John is a lunkhead. He did what I told him. John would think it was raining if you pissed in his eyes."
Dixon looked at his cigarette and tapped his foot; he was wearing smooth Italian shoes of taupe-colored leather. He seemed at ease.
"A man of your wealth, Dixon. It is-"
"Oh, don't start moralizing, Stern. That's the markets, okay? Down there, we eat our young. Everybody does it.
Shit, the customers do it-the ones who know what's up.
It's humanity in the jungle. I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar, that's all. I want to move on. I want to get this fucking thing over with." He slapped his knees and looked at his brother-in-law directly-ruddy, vital, still handsome, Dixon Harmell, colossus of the marketplace. "I want to plead guilty," he said.
Stern did not answer,
"Okay?" asked Dixon. "What time is it? Give those assholes a call, will you? While I still have my nerve. I want to hear the sound of Sennett, that pompous son of a bitch, falling over from shock."
"I believe, Dixon," said Stern, "that you seek to deceive Dixon jolted visibIy. 'Me?"* "Just so,,' "You're crazy. ' "I believe no}''
Dixon's mouth hung open a bi?
"You've been talking to that girl, haven't you? What's her name?
Krumke."
"Alas, Dixon, your anlics have cost me the confidence of the government.
I have not been speaking with Ms. Klonsky."
Dixon stood up. He walked around the office, waving his cigarette.
"YOu want me to bleed, don't you?"
"I would welcome the truth, Dixon. If you care to tell Wandering, Dixon paused at Stern's spot by the window and looked down to the river, spangled and living in the moru[ng sum '"There are some things about that account." "Which account is that?"
Stern asked. "Wunderkind, Inc. Whatever we called it.?": "Yes?"
"That was John's account. Or it was supposed to be. I didn't want to move money into an account that would trace to me. So I asked him to open one. You know, a corporate account, because of exchange compliance. It can't be in his name. The KCFE has a rule that member employees can't have their own accounts."
"So whose name did you use, Dixon?"
Dixon turned around. He was in extreme discomfort. "Kate.
She signed the account papers. In her maiden name. I'm sure she didn't know a damn thing about what was going on.
Goofball just told her to sign by the x."
"And what did John obtain by accommodating you in this fashion?"
"Oh, he's the village idiot. I ask him to jump, he says, How high. He wants to be a floor trader. He was waiting for me to promote him. Look, he's a kid. He's a noodle. You bend him in whatever shape you want. I told him to do things, he did them."
"You did not promise him even a penny in profit?"
"I never talked to him about it. Frankly, I think he's too dimwitted to ask. And there never was any profit, anyway.
Not for long."
"Yes, Dixon, explain that to me. You stole money and then lost it?"
"It was Las Vegas. Who cared? I lost, I got more. It was a fucking amusement, Stern."
"In which you embroiled my daughter and my son-in-lawmyour niece and nephew. A crime of curiosity in which you proposed to hide behind children-my children?"
Dixon did not answer. He returned to the sofa and fired his lighter for another cigarette.
"Did you not estimate, Dixon, that John would tell the government about that account and how it was established?"
"Yeah, I estimated," he said. "I just wasn't real eager to tell you."
Dixon lay back and extended his feet. "I have the records at home. I'll bring them in."
"Did you fear, Dixon, that I would lose respect for you?"
He delivered the remark perfectly-a rapier thrust; cold steel.
"Oh, go fuck yourself, Stern. I'm sorry-I did it, I'm guilty, and I'm pleading guilty. I'll have a long time to repent. So call the goddamned prosecutors and let's get this over with."
With one arm over the sofa back, Dixon blew smoke rings in the air.
"You are guilty of a great deal, Dixon. But, regrettably, not this crime."
Dixon sat up straight.
"Are you frigging out of your mind?"
"I believe not. You are innocent, Dixon."
"Oh, please."
"Dixon, you are telling me precisely what you believe the government thinks."
"You're right about that."
"Which you know to be a lie.."
Dixon, brought up abruptly, did not answer at first. "A lie?"
"Let us leave aside, Dixon, the question of motive. You insist that a rich man might' steal as willingly as a poor one, and that is often the case. But explain this, please.
You tell me that you inveigled John into establishing this account so that, if the day ever came, blame might fall on someone other than yourself. And yet, when the government became aware of the account, you hid the records from them."
"So? I'm not quite as big an asshole as I thought I was.
Besides, I told you: I wasn't real interested in explaining that one to you."
"I feel, Dixon, that you had other motives."
"You're smoking dope, Stern."
"Tell me, Dixon, according to your explanatio
n, how is it that the government learned of any of this in' the first place? Who is the informant, Dixon?"
Dixon shook his head no. As if he had never even pondered the question.
"who do you think it is?" he asked.
"After a great deal of reflection, I have concluded that it is Margy, and that you have known that all along, perhaps even directed her activity."
Dixon was absolutely still. His eyes, a lighter shade tending toward gray or green, moved first.
"You've lost your fucking mind. Completely."
"I believe not."
"You really are a piece of work," Dixon said. "Do you know that? You badger me for months to tell you about this. You cross-examine me. You send me frigging mofion. You threaten my secretary. And now, when I finally suck it up and let you know what's going on, you call me a liar and make some wild-ass accusation that came to you in a hailucination.
Go fuck yourself, Stern."
"A wonderful speech." Stern raised both hands and , clapped once.
"I'm pleading guilty."
"To an offense you did not commit?"
"Look, I'm not taking any more of this crap. You're my lawyer, right?"
"At the moment."
"Well, I want to plead guilty. Make a deal. Those are your orders. InstrUctionsWhatever you call it."
"I am sorry, Dixon. I cannot do that."
"Then I'll fire you."
"Very well."
"You think I won't do this? I'll do it without you. The city is full of lawyers. They all work for pay. It's like blood on the water. I'll have six by the end of the day."
"You are not guilty, Dixon."
Dixon wrenched his face and his voice tore from him at top volume.
"Goddamn you, Stern!"
It was like a cannon blast. Somewhere in the still building Stern could hear movements. Down the hall, a door opened.
"You smug, insuffernable little son of a bitch. Has there ever been a minute in your life when you didn't think you were smarter or better than I am?" Dixon had a wild look.
He had come with'm a few feet of Stern, and Stern was afraid for an instant that Dixon might strike him. But at last Dixon turned away and bent toward the safe.
"Leave it be, Dixon. I remain under subpoena. The safe is my responsibility."
Hot rage, nuclear in its intensity, radiated from Dixon's look, but he stepped away.
"Can you fucking imagine?" he asked before he left.
"Stern here."
"It's Sonny."
He greeted her warmly, asked how she felt. With her voice there was still, if more distantly, the same storm of feeling. Far-off thunder.
He looked at the clock built into the telephone. Another of t/is gadgets. It was well past five.
"Listen," she said. "I just got the most bizarre call. Your client.
Mr. Hartnell. He told me he wants to come in to have a meeting with me."
"Ignore him," saidStern at once.
"I tried. I told him I couldn't talk to him, because he had a lawyer.
He said he fired you. Is that right?"
After a pause, he told her he was not certain precisely where they stood, that Dixon was extremely emotional at the moment, feeling the stress. "If I withdraw, however, I shall not do so before he has substitute counsel. I must insist, Sonny, that the government not deal with him directly."
"Well, Sandy, I don't know. I mean-"
"I am not criticizing you."
"I understand."
Most judges would react adversely if the 'government proceeded. With Stern professing that the client was in turmoil, the court would feel that the prosecution had taken unfair advantage. Even Sennett would not take the chance. His case was strong. Why put it in jeopardy? Sonny, no doubt, was making the same calculations.
"I'll talk to Stan," she said at last. The usual exit from a difficult pass. "Do I take it Mr. Hartnell might be interested in a plea?"
"I would advise him against that," said Stern. "Most emphatically."
"You're bluffing," she said. He could hear the tricks in her voice, the humor. She could not keep herself from a certain bonhomie. She relished being on the same footing with him, proving herself. She was kind enough, however, not to press further. "What about the safe?" she asked.
"Have you and Marta talked about our proposal?"
"What is it you want?" Stern asked. He remembered, of course. It was merely a lawyer's device, one of a thousand, hoping the terms might somehow improve when they were repeated. They did not. She offered the same deal: produce the safe and an affidavit that its contents were undisturbed. So here was that moment again, the everyday of the lawyer's life. It was, after all, only a signature. Who besides Stern would know?
"I believe, Sonny, that I shall not be able to comply."
"Look," she said. "I understand."
"I don't think you do. Stan has very strong feelings."
"Of course."
"Oh, man," she said. She pondered. "I don't Yke where this is going, Sandy. I really don't. Is your client aware that we can prove he controlled that account? You know, Wunderkind?"
"I cannot tell you what I discussed with my client, Sonny, but I have not breached your trust. I hope you would not assume otherwise."
"I know that. I meant-" she said. "Listen, I have to think this through- If I can see my way clear to let you tell him, do you think that would make a difference?"
"You are very kind, Sonny. But it would make no dif ference at all."
She hesitated, deliberating. From her silence, he was sure she was lost.
"Sandy, this is nuts. If you think that someone in this building is going to be afraid to put Sandy Stern in jail."
"I harbor no such illusions. I assure you."
"And there's nothing else anybody can do?"
He waited with the thought, unwilling to prevail upon her again. He had done that in Dulin, and in the end there had been considerable emotional cost to them both.. "What?" she asked. "No matter."
"What?"
He sighed. "The informant."…
She made so'me sound with her tongue. "What about it?"
"I take it you still do not know the identity."
"I couldn't tell you if I did."
"Of course not."
"So?"
"I believe the United States Attorney has taken particular delight in duping me. I su'pect you will find that your source is someone with whom the government knows I have a relationship, one that naturally tends to place that person above my suspicion." He weighed saying "a client," or even giving her Margy's name, but the more specific he was, the more difficult this would become. As she said, she could never confirm an identity. "If my suspicions are misplaced, I would very much like to know that."
"And that's important to you? In connection with this? The subpoena?"
"Critical," he said.
"I'm not making any promises," she said. "If I' find out, I find out. I don't know what I'd do."
They waited on the line. It amazed him again-she was such a strong, fine person.
"How is your life?" he asked. He dared not be more precise. Your marriage. your husband. "Better," she said.
"Good," he told her.
"Yeah," said Sonny, and waited. "But the law sucks," she told him before she put down the phone.
"S TATE your name, please, and spell your last name for the record,"
"My name is Alejandro M. Stern. The first name is A, 1, e, j, a, n, d, r, o. The last name is S, t, e, r, n."
"M?" asked Klonsky. She would perhaps never wholly resolve her curiosity about him.
"Mordecai."
"Ah." She absorbed that stoically and'went back to her notes.
Sonny ran through the usual preamble, one Stern had read in dozens of transcripts. She told him that he was before the Special March 1989 Grand Jury-March being-when they had been impaneled-and provided a one-line description of investigation 89-86, which, she said? concerned "alleged violations of Title 18, United St
ates Code, Section, 1962." She also mentioned that Stern was not a target and that his lawyer was outside, available to consult with him.
"And her name is Marta Stern, same spelling2' "Yes," said Stern. He spoke to the court reporter seated before him, Shirley Floss, who formerly had worked in Judge Horka's courtroom: "M, a, r, t, a." Shirley smiled as she typed.
Proper spellings were the moon and stars of a court reporter's life.
Stern sat in the witness chair, inside the grand jury at last-thirty years of curiosity finally satisfied. Beside him, behind the facade of the raised walnut bench, were the grand jury foreperson and the secretary, two middle-aged.women selected from among the grand jurors f6r this largely ministerial function. A small desk, shared by the court reporter and Klonsky, was immediately before him, and arrayed beyond in the small, tiered room sat the remaining grand jurors: the Leagu him again-she was such a strong, fine person.
"How is your life?" he asked. He dared not be more precise. Your marriage. your husband. "Better," she said.
"Good," he told her.
"Yeah," said Sonny, and waited. "But the law sucks," she told him before she put down the phone.
"S TATE your name, please, and spell your last name for the record,"
"My name is Alejandro M. Stern. The first name is A, 1, e, j, a, n, d, r, o. The last name is S, t, e, r, n."
"M?" asked Klonsky. She would perhaps never wholly resolve her curiosity about him.
"Mordecai."
"Ah." She absorbed that stoically and'went back to her notes.
Sonny ran through the usual preamble, one Stern had read in dozens of transcripts. She told him that he was before the Special March 1989 Grand Jury-March being-when they had been impaneled-and provided a one-line description of investigation 89-86, which, she said? concerned "alleged violations of Title 18, United States Code, Section, 1962." She also mentioned that Stern was not a target and that his lawyer was outside, available to consult with him.
"And her name is Marta Stern, same spelling2' "Yes," said Stern. He spoke to the court reporter seated before him, Shirley Floss, who formerly had worked in Judge Horka's courtroom: "M, a, r, t, a." Shirley smiled as she typed.
Proper spellings were the moon and stars of a court reporter's life.
Stern sat in the witness chair, inside the grand jury at last-thirty years of curiosity finally satisfied. Beside him, behind the facade of the raised walnut bench, were the grand jury foreperson and the secretary, two middle-aged.women selected from among the grand jurors f6r this largely ministerial function. A small desk, shared by the court reporter and Klonsky, was immediately before him, and arrayed beyond in the small, tiered room sat the remaining grand jurors: the League of Nations, all races, all ages.
