The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance

by Braden, Magdalen

  “Yeah, I can see that.” She nodded wisely.

  “Eventually he got paroled. He was released from prison with certain conditions, one of which was that he never took on debt. He had to pay cash for everything. No credit cards, no home improvement loan, no mortgage.”

  Kassie’s smile spread across her face. “I see a loan in this man’s future.”

  Dan grinned. “Exactly. His wife wanted a bigger house, and her daddy was willing to put up the down payment. Would have worked, except at the closing the bank insisted on getting our guy’s signature and Social Security number. Our system picked up the number. Boom. He’d violated his parole.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Before I tell you, what do you think should have happened?”

  She frowned. “He’d broken the law.”

  “Or he was a schmuck played by the wife and father-in-law.”

  “Okay, I give up. What did happen?”

  “Here’s the thing. I was the AUSA on the case, so I had to tell the judge what I thought should happen. One option was to revoke both the parole and the permission to remain in Florida. Another was to slap his wrist and let him go. In between those extremes, we had some options. I argued he should lose his freedom. I saw him as arrogant and smug.”

  “And—?”

  “The judge went for Option C. He lost the house but didn’t have to go back to prison. My guess—he’d bought a house in Boca Raton and that pissed the judge off. The judge’s condo was in Wilton Manor, which isn’t quite as swanky.”

  “Why had you wanted to throw him back in prison?”

  Dan looked at her. “Why indeed? I believe in fairness and justice. They don’t always go together. What’s just? What’s fair? I think the judge was fair. My recommendation would probably have been just.”

  “Okay.”

  “You asked why I want to help Meghan.” He flexed his shoulders, which were getting tight. “I think it’s because it would be both just and fair. I still don’t know everything about Meghan’s legal situation, but I know she doesn’t deserve it. It’s not fair that Meghan has to pay for her mother’s crimes, nor does it right some wrong. I can’t let something like this stand. I have to do something to fix it for her.”

  “But you also love her.”

  He shrugged. “That doesn’t enter into this. That’s personal. I can—I have to put that aside for the moment. I want to see her released from whatever situation she’s stuck in. After that, well, love isn’t part of justice and fairness. I’ll take my chances just like any other schmuck in love.”

  Kassie stood up, her smoothie in her left hand. “No matter what, Mr. H, you are not a schmuck.”

  He thought of Shana telling him, “When the best friend likes you, it’s much easier.”

  He held out his hand. “Thanks, Kassie.”

  Big difference—huge, actually—between walking home after a day sitting at a desk and walking home after eight hours making absurd coffee drinks, stuff like “a grande iced half caf triple mocha latte macchiato.”

  Meghan had never even ordered a five-dollar coffee, so making them was a bit of a learning curve. After coming to terms with the law against perpetuities—which even legal scholars admit is hard to understand—mastering the varieties of size, milk, flavors, styles and sweetener wasn’t impossible. Just work. Work she had to do on her feet.

  Her feet hurt. What had she been thinking wearing her black pumps to her new job as a barista? Maybe tomorrow she could wear flats…or something with some support? Could she wear her running shoes? No, probably not. What had the manager said about the dress code?

  Finally, she was in the neighborhood west of Penn’s campus. C’mon, she wasn’t actually going to die walking. See? There’s the apartment building.

  Just like that, she could imagine Dan in her space. In the kitchen, making them coffee. In the bathroom, singing as he shaved. He had a nice voice but only knew the words to the chorus of any song.

  In bed—in her bed—naked but for a single sheet. His hair all rumply and his smile sexy. Reaching out an arm to lure her back for…for…

  No, she wasn’t going to remember. Sometimes doors just close and that’s all there is to it. She would do all right financially as long as the tips were decent. She’d have to leave the apartment at the end of the month, but she’d found a place near Society Hill where they let women rent single rooms. They’d been written up in the Inquirer, so Meghan had called during her lunch hour. She could go see the room later in the week.

  As she trudged up the stairs, she realized she had nothing planned for dinner. Didn’t matter. She just wanted to get horizontal and rest her feet. Good nutrition would have to take a backseat for a while.

  “How did it go?”

  Meghan didn’t turn around at Kassie’s voice. “I’ll tell you, but you have to let me get my shoes off and my feet up.”

  Kassie followed her in and locked the door behind them. “Okay. Want a foot massage?”

  Dan used to—no, not going to remember. “No, thanks.”

  Meghan changed into jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then came out to lie face down on the bed. She turned her head away from Kassie’s gray sheath. “Why are you still dressed for work?”

  “Dan came to see me today.”

  Meghan pressed her nose into the mattress. “No.” It came out muffled, like a moan.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Meghan shifted just enough to speak clearly. “He didn’t ask you to intervene with me, get me to see him?”

  “He wants to take you to meet with Blackjack McIntyre.”

  Libby’s uncle? The tall-dark-and-handsome US Attorney for the Eastern District? “Did Dan say why?”

  “Yeah. Something to do with fairness and justice. I didn’t understand, not really. Some guy wanting to buy a house in Florida that was nicer than the judge’s condo. I don’t know.”

  The bed shifted and Meghan could picture Kassie throwing her hands in the air. “Did he mention the Lady Justice on his desk?”

  “Is that some sort of euphemism for office sex?”

  Meghan pretzeled her body to sit next to Kassie. “No. It’s a miniature version of a sculpture of Lady Justice. You know how she’s usually standing, holding one arm up like this, with the scales hanging down?” She lifted a hand like she was using it to light her path.

  Kassie nodded.

  “Dan’s has Justice sitting down. The hand you notice is clasped around the hilt of a huge sword, point down.” Meghan bent her elbow, like she was holding a beer.

  “Oh-kay.”

  “Dan says everyone comments on the sculpture’s sword. In point of fact, all the depictions of Justice show her with the sword. We’re just always focused on the scales.”

  “What’s that got to do with the guy in Boca Raton?”

  “Boca? I thought Dan came to talk to you about me.”

  Kassie’s face cleared. “Right. He did. Sorry. I think the image of Justice with a big, strong sword distracted me.”

  Meghan laughed despite herself.

  “Okay, so he wants to clear up your legal situation. And to do that, he needs to see you.” Kassie spread her fingers out wide. “I didn’t tell him where you’re working, but I’ll be honest, I want to tell him. I believe him that he’s not going to jump your bones. He just wants to help.”

  Deep breath. Hold it. Release.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, I can tell him?”

  “No. I should do it. I’ll leave a message at his office tonight.”

  “Awesome.” There was a long pause. “So does he have a huge sword?”

  “Kassie!” Meghan didn’t want to laugh, but sometimes with Kassie…

  “Sorry. Although it would be an interesting form of justice. Just saying.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Meghan shouldn’t have been surprised to see Dan walking over to her with her manager of four days, Barry, by his side. After all, she’d left Dan a message
on Tuesday, her voice a careful monotone, with the name of the coffee shop. When two days had passed, though, with no contact, Meghan had—what? Not relaxed, precisely. There was a dull ache where her heart used to be. It was all she could do to keep from running memories over and over in her head. Learning how to make a triple venti caramel macchiato with whipped skim milk and cinnamon helped.

  The rest of the time, she tried to stay in a very quiet, very empty room in her head.

  Seeing him—it was like the walls of that room had just exploded and all the sounds, smells, sights and feelings of the real world were flooding in. No way to turn them off. Her hands started to shake as she pumped the correct amount of vanilla syrup into a customer’s order.

  Barry looked nervous.

  “Uh, Meghan, could I speak to you when you’re done with that order?”

  “Of course.” She added the whipped cream, topped it with the clear plastic dome and handed the cup to the customer, who barely looked up from her smartphone. Meghan even remembered to smile. That was the secret to getting tipped—a bright smile. Oh, and makeup.

  Meghan checked with Rae that everything was under control. This time in the afternoon was pretty slow, although there’d be another rush just as people started to leave their offices for the afternoon. At Rae’s nod, Meghan came out from behind the counter.

  “Barry. Dan. What can I do for you?” Just as though she was going to take their orders. Crazy.

  Barry led them to a trio of chairs. “Mr. Howard has explained that he’s your attorney.”

  Meghan gave Dan a full WTF look, raised eyebrows and all. He winked at her. Luckily Barry didn’t notice—he was looking anywhere but at their faces. Not good at eye contact, which was why Barry had been such a crappy barista, they’d made him the manager.

  Oblivious, Barry plowed on. “And he needs you for a couple hours this afternoon.”

  “Wait, I can’t just leave.” She needed the money, for chrissake.

  “Don’t worry,” Barry rushed in to explain. “No one’s going to violate your constitutional right to see your lawyer. We’ll make your hours up in the schedule.”

  What the hell had Dan told the guy? Meghan couldn’t decide if she should laugh or what. She shook her head in resignation. “Okay, thanks Barry. You’re being very understanding. I’m sure Mr. Howard will get me back as quickly as he can.”

  Barry smiled at the back wall. “Well, the wheels of justice move slowly, but they grind the coffee really fine.”

  “Right.” Meghan bit her lip to keep her hysteria in check. “I’ll get my bag.”

  Dan had her in a cab before she could even say anything.

  “Sixth and Market,” he told the cabbie.

  “The courthouse?”

  “Blackjack’s office.”

  “But why? And why did you tell Barry you were my lawyer? And what was that BS about a constitutional right to see your attorney? It may be a low-wage job, but it’s not exactly breaking boulders on a chain gang.”

  He pulled out his wallet and extracted a ten-dollar bill. “Take this.”

  “Why?” She kept her hands in her lap.

  He frowned. “Just take it.”

  She took it, holding it by a corner.

  “Now give it back to me.” He reached out and plucked the bill from her hand. “You’ve officially retained me as your criminal defense attorney.”

  “Dan, that’s crazy. It violates any number of ethical rules.”

  His look dared her. “Name one.”

  “We used to be lovers. An attorney can’t sleep with his client.”

  “But we’re not lovers now.”

  “No, but you have to admit there’s a pre-existing relationship.”

  He stared straight ahead. “I admit no such thing. If we have a relationship, I’d like to know why I can’t call or see you and why I got a dead fish message on my voice mail. Lou Trioli sounds warmer to me than you do.”

  “Fine.” Meghan folded her arms and faced the front of the cab.

  “I need to be your attorney for this visit. You can fire me when it’s over.”

  “Whatever.” Dead fish? She’d give him dead fish.

  The rest of the ride was silent. Meghan reconstructed the white room of emotional neutrality. Dan—well, who the hell knew what he was thinking about.

  He got them to the US Attorney’s office without incident. There was a waiting room, complete with the US seal on the wall, with solid letters underneath announcing they were in the United States Attorney’s Office, Eastern District of Pennsylvania. As if anyone could be confused about that.

  Meghan looked away. Too much like her visit to Chicago in June.

  “Hi, Katrina,” he said to the black woman behind the desk. “I believe we’re expected.”

  “Daniel. Yes, you are.” She buzzed, then showed them into a large office.

  The US Attorney was younger than Meghan had imagined from his TV press conferences and interviews. In fact, he couldn’t be a lot older than Dan. Nonetheless, something about Blackjack McIntyre pulled her attention away from Dan, which wasn’t easy to do. Meghan instinctively squared her shoulders and stuck out her right hand. “Mr. McIntyre.”

  “Ms. Mattson.” He nodded at Dan. “Come sit with me.” He led them to a less formal arrangement of armchairs.

  When they were all settled, Jack McIntyre got started. “Ms. Mattson, I’m not going to waste your time. I’ve read the papers associated with your mother’s case, including the original indictment. I’ve also read the court filings in which you agree to be responsible with your mother for the restitution.”

  She watched him carefully. He hadn’t said he’d spoken to Walczek. “All right,” she said.

  “I have one question.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why did you agree to pay the restitution?”

  She felt caught by his stare. It wasn’t hostile, but it demanded that she tell the truth. “The real reason is that I wanted my mother’s victims to get their money back. Why should they suffer when I was going to be making a lot of money? I thought I’d be able to afford it over a couple years of working as a junior associate but still living like a starving law student.”

  “Would you have agreed if you’d known it would force you to drop out of law school?” McIntyre sat back slightly and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

  “No. That’s where I screwed up. I figured I’d have time. I’d researched their trial schedule and I couldn’t see how they could get to my mother’s trial in under ten months. I should have seen that they might persuade her to plead out. If I’d factored that in, I’d have tried to negotiate the starting date so my payments got deferred for a year. That would have allowed me to graduate. Instead, Walczek got me to sign on the spot. Pretty stupid on their part, as the restitution won’t be paid for years. But even more stupid on my part.”

  “Are you literally paying for your mother’s crimes?”

  Meghan couldn’t read the US Attorney at all. He looked only mildly interested in the conversation. Her instinct told her to be honest. “Yes, I suppose I am. Someone’s got to, and I’d rather it was me than her victims. I had nothing to do with the scam. I just thought I could better afford to make things whole for those people.”

  McIntyre nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.” He reached for the phone on a low wooden cube next to his chair. “Katrina, please get me an AUSA named Walczek in the Chicago office. Thanks.”

  While they waited for the call to come through, the men chatted about the Phillies. Meghan jumped when the phone rang. So loud.

  “Mr. Walczek, this is Jack McIntyre.” He smiled. “All right, I will. Sam, I’m calling about a case you handled three months ago. Bianca Boudreau and Meghan Mattson. Identity theft. Right. That’s the one.”

  He listened for a moment, then crossed his legs, hitching his trouser legs so the crease fell perfectly along his knee.

  “Well, I can’t agree that you got a great result. Here’s the thing. I have Ms. Ma
ttson and her attorney, Dan Howard, in my office. Dan’s a former AUSA himself.” He nodded, then cut Walczek off. “Yes, you’re right. It is none of my business. Well, apart from my innate concern that the US Department of Justice not abuse its prosecutorial powers by extracting commitments from innocent citizens. Nonetheless, I agree I should not be discussing it. Here’s Dan Howard.” He handed the phone to Dan.

  Walczek was loud enough that Meghan could hear the rise and fall of his voice. Finally, Dan smiled. “Mr. Walczek, I’ve been in your shoes, so I get it. You may not have taken into consideration the effect your deal had on Ms. Mattson’s legal career. I’ve spoken personally with the assistant dean at Franklin Law School. Ms. Mattson’s a very promising student. No question she’ll command top salary when she graduates. She can’t attend school while she’s paying off the restitution, so she’s had to take a leave of absence. Without a law degree, she’s not making top dollar, which diminishes her ability to pay the restitution, which benefits no one.”

  Walczek must have gone off on a rant because suddenly Dan rolled his eyes and made his free hand into a sock puppet. Open, close, open, close. McIntyre grinned. Meghan choked back a laugh.

  “Okay, you’ve expressed your concerns. Let me tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to modify the order so that Ms. Mattson’s payments are deferred for a year to run from today’s date. She’s current with her payments, isn’t she? Excellent. I have the request for modification here. Katrina, Jack’s secretary, will fax it to you immediately.”

  Even Meghan could hear the stunned silence on the other end of the call. Dan waited another moment, then said, “Why should you do this? Because you never Mirandized my client. The way I see it, you violated her constitutional rights. On that basis, I can file a motion to have her agreement to pay nullified. I’ll also file a request that you be sanctioned by the Illinois Bar. Oh, and I’ll impress upon Jack that maybe the Department of Justice would want to know what happens when a person of interest arrives to speak to an AUSA in the Chicago office.”