He’d found the critical witness to the deposit—the only living witness who would tell the truth about that evening—and he’d let her go. As a result, he’d likely lost the case. In the process, he’d squandered his financial comeback. And lost Jessie.
Quite a scorecard. If that was all he was meant to accomplish in this case, what was he doing here, half the world away from home, watching a sunset among strangers? What could he possibly rescue from this debacle?
The sun was nearly gone now, just a layer of orange clinging to the horizon. Staring at the image, Jared’s thoughts turned toward his father and Mrs. Huddleston’s still unanswered question—why Samuel chose to live amidst that rubble of the destruction he’d caused.
He still had no good answer. But, as he had at the hostel, Jared wondered if maybe the time had come to stop persecuting the man. It was obvious that the town of Ashley was doing enough of that anyway.
Part of Jared cried back that his father didn’t deserve absolution, regardless of whether he’d changed. Then again, he felt the whisper of a notion that pardoning the man was not about what his father deserved, but about what Jared needed to do.
Besides, he thought as he picked up a pebble and threw it down into the hollow alongside the rocks, after he’d come so close to placing Cory in danger to win the lawsuit, his father’s crimes no longer seemed so unimaginable—or unforgivable.
39
Jared felt comatose from jet lag after a sleepless flight. At the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport he retrieved his bag from the carousel and stumbled toward the airport exit.
Though it was early evening, it was already dark outside. Jared was standing in the entry to his parking level trying to recall where he’d left the car when his phone went off. Caller ID showed it was Jessie.
He wasn’t sure he was ready for this conversation, but set aside his qualms and punched Answer on the screen.
“Jared? Are you back at your townhouse?”
“Still at the airport. Sorry I didn’t call from Europe. I just needed to figure things out.”
“I get it. Jared, we need to talk.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean about the case. Something’s happened. We need to talk.”
Even through his haze, Jared was struck by the urgency in her voice. Though he’d held back many details, he’d already sent Jessie a text about his inability to bring Cory back, so he couldn’t imagine what she needed to share. “I’m beat, Jessie. I can call you in the morning.”
“It’s really important. We need to meet.”
“All right,” he surrendered. “I’ve got to get up to Ashley tomorrow to finish the motion anyway and explain things to Erin. Let’s meet at Dad’s house around noon.”
At ten o’clock the next morning Jared walked through his father’s door and headed to his room to drop his bag. A note from Samuel on his pillow informed him what he already knew—Jessie was in the Twin Cities.
Rachel’s summary judgment papers were on the living room couch. Jared scanned them. Not bad. At least not bad given that they contained no evidence to defeat Stanford’s motion.
Taped to Jessie’s computer screen was an envelope with Jared’s name, scribed in her handwriting. The single sheet inside was topped with a sticky note: “This may be something.”
He scanned the document. It was interesting, but too little and too late to raise Jared’s flagging hope. This couldn’t be the news Jessie wanted to share.
Mrs. Huddleston needed a ride to the meeting today, he recalled. She had become virtually another legal assistant in the case, and he wanted to tell her about the crash of the case at the same time as Jessie and Erin. He headed back out to the CR-V to pick her up.
He drove slowly through town. The streets were peaceful. All of the leaves were down now and long ago hauled away. With school in session, only occasional adults graced the sidewalks, walking dogs or strolling on errands.
The route took him past the First Lutheran Church, and on an impulse, Jared turned into the church driveway. He’d come on foot when visiting Pastor Tufts the last time and had not circled the building to the acreage behind. Now he was curious about his father’s domain.
He parked in the rear lot amidst the sweep of grassy fields, a paved walking path, and a baseball diamond. There was one other car in the back lot. His father was trimming some bushes on the far reach of the grounds; a man strode the path in his father’s direction.
The grass was immaculate, the edging on the path crisply defined. The baseball field was perfectly chalked, even though the season was long past. Only a few stray leaves marred the surface of the lawn.
All this from a man who’d hardly touched a yard tool in all the years Jared was growing up. He’d painted a landscape right here in the heart of town, out of grass and trees, dirt and paving stones.
Through his windshield, Jared watched the man approach his father, who put his clippers down and straightened. The visitor looked familiar. He extended one hand, which Samuel accepted, and grasped his father’s shoulder with the other.
It was some distance away, but now Jared recognized the man as Verne Loffler, the man who’d hit him at the Legion Hall.
Jared marveled again at the yard. Mrs. Huddleston must pass here every day when she walked to the library. Only a few blocks from downtown, and on the main route to the high school, half the town would see these grounds each day; would watch his father toiling on his hands and knees, with mower and clipper and shovel.
Jared started his car to drive on.
40
They huddled in his father’s living room, listening to Jessie’s story of what she’d learned at lunch with Yvonne—Erin, Mrs. Huddleston, Rachel, and Jared. Jared watched Jessie through eyes puffed with fatigue, alternating between tides of anger and exhaustion.
As much as he disliked Stanford and Whittier, he’d never suspected they could be personally tied into the theft of the check. But then everything had changed since he’d left for Athens.
The room stilled, and Jared looked up to see that Jessie had finished. All eyes were turned to him.
For a moment, he was tempted to tell an incomplete story of Athens. All he had to do was shift the timing of his discovery of the package. But he told it as it happened. Erin, Jessie, and Mrs. Huddleston did not blink or falter and Jared was relieved.
But Rachel responded differently. Her face wilted and her shoulders fell as Jared described the threatening note and the man in the brown jacket—until her hands were strangling the hem of her sweater and her eyes widened with alarm. Mrs. Huddleston obviously noted it too, watching with growing interest from the corner of her eye.
As Jared’s story reached the Athens rail station, Rachel moaned, stumbled to her feet, and rushed to the door. Erin rose to follow, but before she was past Jared’s shoulder, a car door slammed. A moment later an engine raced and tires squealed up the cul-de-sac.
“Anyone know what that was about?” Jessie asked.
No one answered, though Jared thought that Mrs. Huddleston looked more thoughtful than surprised.
“Well, I’ll call her later,” Jessie said.
“So what do we do now?” Erin asked, returning to her seat. “About the case, I mean.”
Jared didn’t suggest the case was over—though he knew it still might be. He’d come back to Ashley today planning to explain why his Greek visit spelled the end of the case. Jessie’s news had made that conclusion less clear.
“Our problem,” he began instead, “is we’re still all hints and no evidence.”
“You’ve got Cory’s statement,” Jessie said.
Jared shook his head. “It doesn’t go far enough. Cory’s confession to me about the amount of the midnight deposit isn’t in there. Even if it was, it’s not safe to use. Right now the bank—or Stanford—probably doesn’t know we have the statement. But once we serve it with our papers, they could track Cory down and threaten her to recant—or worse. We can’t put her through that.”
Erin looked puzzled. “What document?”
Jared reached for Jessie’s photocopy. “Jessie discovered this in the boxes this week.”
“What is it?” Erin asked.
“ ‘From: Ashley Bank Vice-President Timothy Harley; To: Vice-President Penelope Strittmeyer; Date: March 1, 1994,’ ” Jared read aloud. “ ‘Please begin collection of the following records for disk storage prior to their destruction, consistent with the new bank document retention policy to destroy all such records after ten years.’ ”
“How does that help?”
“The records to be collected included all closed bank accounts,” Jared said. “The bank never produced these disks in discovery, and none of the witnesses testified to checking them. So there may still be an unchecked bank record that could reveal the account number on our deposit slip.”
Erin leaned forward on the couch, flushed and excited. “This is great. Let’s tell the judge they withheld this disk evidence and get more time. Then we go after that evidence plus the Paisley trust account records.”
He wanted to please Erin with a simple yes, but shook his head in the negative.
“We’ve had eight months to move the court to compel the disk evidence—counting Mort’s time on the case. We’ve had the documents from Paisley’s ‘dump,’ which included this sheet, for four weeks. After giving us time to complete depositions and prepare for the summary judgment hearing, I’d give us little chance of squeezing yet another delay out of this judge.
“And as for the trust account records,” Jared plowed on, “we’re treading on sacred ground there. We have zero chance that this judge would allow us to subpoena Paisley’s client trust account before the hearing based on a random lunch comment by a legal assistant. No, the discovery phase of this case is done.”
Erin shrank back into the couch. Jared wanted to comfort her, but there was no time left for false hope. She was collapsing with frustration, he thought, but for him, the emotion was anger, tamped low by fatigue and a waning reservoir of emotional fuel.
If Cory was telling the truth, they now knew that Erin’s father deposited the money with the Ashley bank, and that the bank—and perhaps Stanford—had hidden that money. They knew witnesses were being threatened in order to shut them up. But whatever they “knew,” they still fell far short of the evidence to prove these points and avoid the precipice of dismissal.
He glanced at Jessie, who had quit this job because he refused to drop the case. Since his return she hadn’t once mentioned resigning. In fact, he imagined he could hear her teeth grinding, she was so determined that this case get to trial.
Get to trial. He realized that they were thinking too short term. It was true they had only a few days to find enough evidence to get past summary judgment—and that this judge would not allow them more discovery to find that evidence. But if they convinced the judge not to dismiss the case, they would have renewed power to subpoena witnesses and documents for trial. With that renewed power for the next and final phase of the case, they could demand the disks and Paisley trust account records for trial.
Of course they could come up flat. But at least they’d have more time for the fight.
As quickly as he grew enthused with this line of thought, his excitement subsided just as fast. They were still left with the dilemma of convincing this judge to not dismiss the case, to let them go to trial. Cory’s statement remained the only evidence with any chance of achieving that goal—and they had no safe way to use it. They were back to square one.
Explaining his thoughts out loud, Jared watched as Erin and Jessie grew excited about the notion of subpoenaing records for trial—only to fade as he returned to the fundamental problem of not being able to use Cory’s statement.
Mrs. Huddleston had remained thoughtful while Jared spoke. Her hand went up in the silence that greeted his final words.
“Jared, what if we could get Cory’s statement to the judge for the hearing without letting the Paisley attorneys know. Would that make it safe to use?”
Mrs. Huddleston’s question puzzled Jared. He was still thinking about it when Jessie spoke. “I don’t see how. Then Stanford and the bank would learn about the statement at the hearing and could harm or threaten Cory to prevent her testifying live at trial—or even for revenge.”
“I’m not sure,” Jared responded. “At least if Stanford’s behind this. Marcus prides himself on real-world pragmatism. If we slipped the evidence by him—got it into the hearing without giving Stanford time to take action against Cory—I don’t think he’d risk harming her afterward just as punishment.”
“Wouldn’t he still threaten Cory to keep her from testifying live at trial?”
“Maybe,” Jared answered, “but once the judge sees Cory’s written statement, if there was any hint that Cory was harmed or intimidated to prevent her live testimony, there’s a good chance he’d use his discretion to permit the statement into evidence at trial. Also, if we get to trial, the importance of Cory’s testimony pales compared to proof we’ll have if we could show that the Paisley trust account deposit matches the amount deposited with the Ashley State Bank.”
He turned to Mrs. Huddleston, scrutinizing the wallpaper, forgotten since she’d raised the question that started this discussion. “Carol, even if we knew all these things would work out in our favor, I don’t see any way to get the statement to the judge for the hearing without serving Stanford. If we try to sneak Cory’s statement to the judge without serving it on Paisley, Stanford will scream about ethics violations at the hearing, and the judge is unlikely to consider it just on principle.”
Mrs. Huddleston nodded. “Uh-huh. Well, Jared, you’re the lawyer of course. But let’s talk about Rachel for a moment.”
Through the living room window, Jared watched as Mrs. Huddleston got into Erin’s car for a ride home. Jessie was standing at the driver’s window, talking to Erin.
Jared contemplated the strategy they had settled on. It was tenuous and risky—but everything was in this case. Besides, two days ago, Jared had concluded the case was over. Any chance at resurrecting it was worth a try.
Jessie came back through the front door. Without removing her coat, she strode to Jared as he sat on the couch and dropped a folded piece of paper on his lap. She stood over him as he picked it up and opened it.
It was a check, written on an account of Erin Larson. The check amount was thirty thousand dollars.
“What’s this?” he asked, stupefied.
“Expense money,” she replied.
Jessie retreated toward the kitchen, with Jared following. “I don’t get it. Where’d she come up with this money?”
“It appears that Ms. Larson found an investor for the case.”
“Who?”
“Philip Olney.”
“And where did Phil come up with this kind of money?”
Jessie was trying to light a burner on the stove. “Tea, Captain?”
“Jessie, tell me what’s going on.”
She placed a kettle on the lit burner before stopping to face him.
“Well, it appears that while you were vacationing in Europe, Philip Olney settled his case against his brother. It turns out that all he needed was to have those bank records at our office audited, and his brother folded like a house of cards.”
“How’d that put money in Erin’s bank account?”
“Apparently someone told Phil about the Larson case and worked out an investment deal with Erin: thirty thousand dollars for 3 percent of the case.”
Unbelievable. This could get them through. “And that someone would be you?”
“Yes. Jared?”
“Yeah.”
“This will make everything square, right? With the trust account?”
Jared nodded, saw the relief on Jessie’s face.
“We’ve got some things to talk about,” he said.
“Lots on your plate right
now. Later’s fine. And I’m still on the job unless you’ve found a replacement for me while in Athens.”
“Still working on it. You know, Jessie, it’s not just about the money.”
Jessie nodded. “I think I’m starting to figure that out.”
The kettle began to boil and Jessie turned away.
“An audit that fast,” Jared said. “It must have cost a lot. Who’d you get to do it?”
She turned back, smiling, and extended a cup of tea. “Your father.”
41
Sallow light from skies full of low-hanging clouds made the morning feel oppressive, Jared thought, watching through the front window. He checked his watch again. She should be here any minute.
A car turned the corner and approached the end of the cul-de-sac.
“She’s here,” Jared called over his shoulder.
“Okay,” Jessie answered from the couch behind him. He heard her stand and retreat through the kitchen toward the back door.
Jared met Rachel at the front porch steps. Her face was rigid and her arms folded across her chest. “Hello,” she said curtly as Jared opened the door.
He waved her through the door. “Sorry you didn’t feel well yesterday. Your laptop and check are in the kitchen.”
She followed Jared through the living room to her computer on the kitchen table, topped with a white envelope.
“The motion papers were fine,” he said, picking up the unsealed envelope and opening it, “but I don’t know what good they’ll do.” He pulled the check from the envelope and scrutinized it. “Looks fine.”
Rachel reached for her computer and the envelope. “Sorry it didn’t work out,” she said.
Jared shrugged. “Litigation’s always risky.”
He followed her to the door; watched as she returned to her car and drove away without looking back. As the car turned the corner and disappeared, Jared heard the back door of the house open and shut.
The Deposit Slip Page 23
