ON Edge

by John W. Mefford

  After finding my car still in the Peretti’s parking lot, I told Poppy I was going to leave it there overnight. I was in no condition to drive. I’d given Tito the rundown of this mind-boggling day on the ride over to his place.

  He pointed to the couch. “That folds out into a futon.”

  “No worries. I appreciate you letting me crash for the night. And thanks for picking up the tab at Peretti’s. I’ll be able to pay you back tomorrow. Just need to get my credit and debit card situation resolved.”

  “No problem, Oz. It’s been a while, but you were always one of the guys who had my back, even after you quit football.”

  High school. I hadn’t traveled down that memory lane in a while. Not sure I wanted to.

  “You never told me why you went all ninja on those three dudes today outside your office.”

  I thought about the prospect of recalling my entire lousy day…again. “I was just helping an old friend, that’s all.”

  “Hey, then I guess you can put me in that category too.”

  He went off to find some sheets and a spare pillow as I continued my tour of his art. One that really caught my eye was a picture of a kid wearing ragged clothes, had mud or something similar on his face, and was being welcomed into a home with a roaring fire and stockings hanging from the mantle. The family portrayed in the painting was having a blast playing a board game.

  “That was never the Novak clan,” I said out loud.

  Tito appeared from around the corner with a stack of bed linens and a pillow. “You guys weren’t into Monopoly or Four Square?”

  “We all kind of coexisted,” I said, turning my sights back to the painting, making another attempt to recall any moments where we showed that great family bond. I was sure something wonderful had occurred, but right then, maybe because of the day’s drama, I was drawing a blank. “I guess I have some decent memories, but we never did things together as a family. Now, don’t get me wrong; my parents had the concept of Monopoly down pat. Make money, spend money, and show off your money.”

  We both laughed at that one. Tito headed off to his room, and I made my palette on the futon. It was surprisingly comfortable, but my eyes wouldn’t shut. I was used to reaching out with my left arm and touching my wife’s hip. Nicole. Damn, my heart ached.

  I turned on my side, and I caught a faint glimpse of another Christmas painting leaning against the brick wall. A couple was celebrating Christmas morning with a toddler, a little girl maybe three years old. All I could think was: That should be us. Me and Nicole and our first child.

  I flipped to my back and stared at the wood rafters arched across the ceiling. I considered calling Nicole and trying to talk to her. But as much as I wanted to hear her voice, I wasn’t sure I could deal with this new person who had been my wife, my lover, and best friend. It sounded all so cliché in my mind, like some type of formulaic romantic comedy.

  Where is the comedy in all of this?

  Maybe she was lying in our bed at home, staring at the ceiling, realizing that she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. In my head, I replayed the text she sent me, and I felt the air rush from my lungs. While I’d always thought she was warm and compassionate—well, up until about twelve hours ago—Nicole was no wilting flower. Professionally, she appeared to be a bit of an ass-kicker. I’d always found that appealing, believing no one would get the best of Nicole, and I would always be there to support her—and vice versa—if there were ever tough times.

  Like right now. Could the times get any tougher?

  She, for whatever reason, had jumped from step one to step nine in the break-up process. I knew she was introspective, kept things inside, for the most part. But I’d always believed that she’d shared with me the most important things in her life, her biggest fears or concerns.

  But maybe that was where I’d made my mistake. I’d always thought I could read people pretty well, and by that, I mean more than just reading their lips. And Nicole was at the top of that list, which is why we were…uh, had been so connected. It appeared my instincts had been thrown off. Love, or lust, or whatever it was had distorted my people-reading radar.

  Had I been wrong about Dad too? I knew he had a tendency to push the envelope. He was the Bill Belichick of law. Smart as hell, but he’d been known to skate dangerously close to breaking the rules.

  Extortion. Obstruction of justice. Assault and battery. Dad. It was difficult to use those terms and Dad in the same thought. I didn’t want to believe it was true, and Dad didn’t exactly deny the charges. He downplayed them, yes, but he wasn’t pissed like I thought he’d be—like I’d be if I knew the charges were baseless. Hell, the person showing the most emotion was Agent Bowser from the FBI.

  There was still so much I didn’t know. Who was my dad’s secret client? What was he hired to do that would bring about these types of charges?

  While I had no experience in this world, I’d studied plenty of cases like this in law school. I learned that an attorney can often be a scapegoat for a client with a lot of money who was used to treating people like puppets. I wanted to give Dad the benefit of the doubt. But, for many reasons, there was a hell of a lot of doubt. It all came down to one thing: did Dad know he was breaking the law?

  My phone buzzed, and I reached over to my suit coat and pulled it out.

  “Finally,” I muttered to myself. It was a text from Arie.

  Meet me at the office, 7 tomorrow morning. I’ll share everything I know.

  I released a deep breath, then put the pillow over my face. It was the best way to force my eyes shut. Maybe I’d wake up and realize this had all been a bad dream. I clung to that thought as I drifted off to sleep.

  10

  Arie Steinberg always wore his pants way too high on his waist. For some reason, I’d allowed it to bother me. My annoyance, at the moment, was elevated because of several factors. I was standing in the file room of Novak and Novak, with papers and folders and boxes and Sharpies scattered everywhere. I’d already seen a sign on the front door of the office telling everyone to take a day off—I wasn’t sure what that meant. And Arie, the man who had the energy and leadership capability of a person in a coma, had a serious case of halitosis.

  He grunted a couple of times at the mess surrounding us, wiped his hand across his face. “Let’s go to my office.”

  I followed him in and sat down in a plastic chair that wasn’t meant for comfort. When I looked up, I was nearly blinded by the sun shining through the east-facing windows. “Do you mind lowering the blinds?”

  “Sure. Sorry about that.” He fidgeted with the pull strings for a good five minutes, but all he did was lift one side and lower the other.

  “It’s okay. I’ll deal with it,” I said, cupping my hand over my eyes as a headache began to form. Part of that had likely been brought on by a lack of hydration.

  He grunted his frustration with the blinds and sat on the other side of his desk. He opened a manila folder, spread out three sheets of paper, and then stopped. Propping his chin on his anchored hands, he just stared at me. Little did he know, his breath was pumping out air so polluted that the ozone level was probably being impacted in the middle of the winter. I tried shifting in my seat to avoid the invisible fog, but I couldn’t escape it. I gulped in some air from the side of my mouth.

  “So are you up to the task of leading the firm until my dad gets back?” I asked.

  He paused, set his palms on the desk. “Yeah, about that.”

  “About what? My dad, or you leading the firm?”

  He rearranged the pages on the desk, then glared at me. He was studying my body language, wondering how I was going to respond.

  “Arie, can you get to it? We need to be at the hospital before the Feds and their lawyers show up and start drilling him.”

  He sighed. “This office will probably not be open for business—not in the traditional sense.”

  I leaned forward.

  “Not until…”

  I waited for h
im to finish the sentence. He didn’t.

  “Arie?” He was so stiff, I thought I’d lost him for a second.

  “This won’t be easy for you, Ozzie.”

  “What won’t be easy?” The pain behind my eyes began to throb.

  “As you know, I’m the only other partner in the—”

  “Get to it, please.”

  He puffed out a breath. It nearly dropped me to the floor.

  “There is a provision in the bylaws of the firm.” He licked his fingers, then lifted a sheet and scanned it with his eyes. “It states that if your father, Nathaniel F. Novak, dies, then all assets of the firm will be sold off and divided amongst the employees.”

  I let that sink in for a moment. Was that supposed to be some kind gesture by my dad? “Okay, but he’s not dead.”

  “Right, I know. But there’s a subclause to that provision that this step must also be taken if your father is incapacitated by illness or is unable to perform the duties as the leader of the firm for a period of more than a week.”

  I brought my hand down and closed my eyes for a moment. “It’s only been twenty-four hours. Not even.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to look through the sun to see Arie’s response.

  He was expressionless, as usual. “Ozzie, he’s got two reasons why he won’t be back at this firm for a while. First and most importantly, his health. The last thing he needs is to be in the pressure cooker.”

  The last time I’d heard that term was from my grandmother. “You’re right about that,” I admitted.

  “And second, these charges. They’re serious.”

  “He told me.”

  “He told you?” His mouth hung open.

  “Why do you look so shocked?”

  “Well, uh, you know, the sealed warrant and all.”

  I looked off, wondering if he thought I knew more than I did. My eyes fell upon the lone picture in his office. It was a snapshot of Arie and his wife, purportedly on their honeymoon. It was black and white. Back when life was simpler. Or so I’d been told.

  “He told me about the charges, but that’s it. I couldn’t get anything else out of him. Do you know more than that?”

  “You know your father runs a tight ship.”

  Another phrase from yesteryear. “So you’re telling me that you feel like it’s your duty to liquidate the assets of the firm?”

  “I didn’t make the rules. Your father did.”

  I replayed his recounting of the provision. “If you’re going to liquidate the firm, then why don’t I just buy it? That will keep it in the family.” The moment I threw out the idea, the other half of my mind thought I was nuts. Here I was suggesting that I would buy a business when I couldn’t even pay for my bar tab. Surely, I’d work it out with Nicole sometime later today. Yet, I almost felt certain that, by talking to her, I was asking for an invitation to have my heart ripped from my chest. Maybe the most pragmatic approach would be for me to drop by the bank and…

  He pressed his lips together. For a moment, it looked like he had no teeth. “Sorry, no can do.”

  I sat straighter. “Arie, this isn’t a will. Even if it was, you know all legal documents are not ironclad. We can figure out a way to keep the office open.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t hear the part about the proceeds being divided among the employees.”

  “Honestly, I’d bet that they’d rather keep their jobs.”

  There was a period of silence as he eyed me more. Then he said, “I may be a partner, but I’m also one of the employees, Ozzie. And I’m ready for retirement.”

  My eyes narrowed as my mind started connecting a few dots. The office was raided, and Dad was caught off guard, or so it seemed. He never flat-out denied the charges and essentially told me there was no record of his client.

  So, it sounded as if Dad had acted completely on his own. If so, was there any way Arie knew about this secret work? It was plausible, considering they shared a long friendship. They even played golf once a week, part of the same foursome who had been playing each Saturday for the last twenty-something years. Arie and his wife were members of the same temple, I was fairly certain.

  Still though, was there any way that Arie had set up my dad? It was hard to fathom, considering their friendship, and because Dad hadn’t suggested the possibility. But maybe my dad had no idea that Arie was somehow behind this. What was this anyway? Well, if Arie was the perpetrator, it was essentially a coup. Not a coup to gain power per se, but one to secure his retirement.

  Then my mind did a little math. There were eighteen employees, including myself. The firm couldn’t be worth that much. Dividing its value by eighteen would whittle the take by that much more. Unless Arie had his heart set on buying a big-screen TV, this so-called retirement money would probably be a pittance. Maybe my coup theory had no legs. But still, why had Arie thrown out the retirement card as a reason he didn’t want me to buy the firm?

  “I guess it comes down to this.” He rearranged the papers again, as if he were playing some type of casino shell game, then stared right at me. “Are you willing to go against your father’s wishes just so you can stroke your ego by having your name on the side of the building? This would also mean that you and I would be adversaries. I would be representing the firm, as well as the remaining employees who would be paid, and you would be representing…you.”

  Arie hadn’t spoken ten meaningful words to me since I’d officially joined the firm. I’d assumed his negotiating skills had eroded, or had never existed. It was like he’d somehow tapped into his inner Harvey Specter. Flipping it around to inflict guilt was a classic move. And even though I knew about the tactic, it still had an impact.

  “I don’t want to create friction, Arie. Especially if we need to work together on Dad’s case.”

  He gave me a grandfatherly nod, as if I’d been a good boy in listening to his advice.

  “Okay, then. I guess it’s settled.”

  I stood up, gazed through his door, out into the hallway. I thought about the abrupt changes in my life in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe I’d been blind—on top of partially deaf. Nicole had been preparing for this event for some time. A few days, a week, a month? And Dad had seemed a bit preoccupied lately. Maybe if I’d been more inquisitive, he would have shared this with me before he crossed the line.

  I released an exhausted sigh, ran my fingers though my hair. I looked down and saw about a hundred wrinkles in my shirt and pants—yes, I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I had to get into the house and get my stuff, or maybe buy something later if Nicole wouldn’t let me back in. Damn, could things get any worse?

  Arie started talking, but because he was behind me, I couldn’t pick up anything other than “company bylaws.” I flipped around. “I didn’t catch that.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, tapping his ear, as if I needed a reminder about my deficiency. “I was saying that I forgot to mention one more stipulation in the company bylaws.”

  I rubbed my face and felt a thick beard. Of course, I hadn’t shaved. “So…” I waved my arm, urging him to get to it.

  “The division of the company assets is based upon time of service.” He paused a second. I didn’t bother jumping in with a question, so he continued. “It’s set at five years, which eliminates ten of the employees.”

  I blinked a couple of times, wondering if my mind had correctly processed what he’d said. “You said five years.”

  “I didn’t want this to catch you off guard later, when we’re actually dividing up the proceeds.”

  I’d been with the firm for almost three years, not five. So, not only had my father not made me a partner at a firm with my name on it, but he’d also set it up to basically keep me from receiving my fair share if they had to sell off the assets. I could think of only one reason why he’d done this to me: I wasn’t his real son. There could be no other reason.

  “I know you must be a little confused right now,” Arie said.

  A rush of heat
invaded my head. “Confused? Not a bit. I’m headed to the fucking hospital. I assume you’ll meet me there.”

  I kicked the top of a box on my way out, hoping I’d never see the inside of Novak and Novak again.

  11

  Whenever I’d represented a man or woman in a divorce proceeding, I’d always given two pieces of what I considered to be sage advice: don’t make key decisions under duress, and learn to be grateful for the small things in life.

  Right now, I was two-for-two. For starters, I’d somehow controlled my emotions and not gone off on Arie. The last thing I needed was to create a deeper chasm with the person leading the defense of my father, whose snub of me was still a fresh wound. I wasn’t sure how to take it right now. So I pushed it aside. As for finding something to be thankful for, it was simple: the cold wind whipping across my face through the open window of my Cadillac. Tito had been nice enough to drop me off at Peretti’s earlier this morning to pick up my car. I was using the time on the drive to the hospital to cool down—literally and figuratively—while also getting some fresh air. After no shower, a night of drinking, and a whole lot of tension, I was….ripe.

  I made it to the hospital before Arie and stepped into the gift shop to purchase a package of gum and a stick of deodorant. On the elevator ride up, I made myself presentable, at least as much as I could, and prepared for another round of tension. Then a thought hit me: Neither Dad, nor Tobin, nor even Mom had any knowledge of what Nicole had done. They all thought she was the bomb. So had I, of course.

  As much as I wanted to rip into Dad, which, in my mind had to occur well before I shared getting dumped by Nicole, I wasn’t going to jeopardize his health.

  I exited the elevator and nearly tripped over Agent Bowser.

  “You look like, uh…” He covered his nose for a moment.

  “No need to go there, thank you.” I looked past him. “Surprised you didn’t spend the night to make sure my father didn’t make a run for the border.”

  He twirled a keychain around his finger. “We knew he wasn’t in any condition to travel, so I told the team to take the night off and meet up here in a few minutes. Besides, I had to drop off my son for early basketball practice.”