"What can I help you with?" I said. "I know you're following us and trying to record us." At that point I recognized him and cried out, "What the hell, Leders?"
Agent Leders was not a small man. He was built solidly beneath his Brooks Brothers pinstripes and had knuckles like an ape. So I didn't encroach on him again. But we were faced off, my question hanging in the air between us. "What?" I said again.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, snapping the lens cover on his camera. I'm taking pictures of this incredible monument to send my wife back home. She's never seen this before and I've tried to describe it to her--"
I didn't see her, but Antonia had joined us. "Hold on, Antonia" I suddenly exploded, "this is Agent Leders! The same FBI agent who came to my office and tried to intimidate me. Are you looking for us to sue you for our privacy, pal?"
He raised a hand and smiled. "I'm in D.C. on business, Mr. Gresham. Like I said, I was taking pictures of the monument--"
"Oh, like hell!" I cried and I lost it, moving forward, getting right in the FBI agent's face. "Now you listen to me. You get the hell out of my sight or I'll be in federal court before two o'clock getting a restraining order against you. And I'll be on the phone with your boss demanding you be fired. You don't want any of this, Leders. So back the hell off!"
The agent actually took another step backward. I was barely in control and the agent knew better than to further provoke me. Antonia then reached inside her coat and produced the picture ID all Assistant U.S. Attorneys are issued. She flashed it in the agent's face. He studied her likeness then looked up.
"You're a federal prosecutor?" he said to Antonia.
'I am. And this man you're following and trying to eavesdrop on is a friend of my office. He's a good man and I'll vouch for him anywhere. So what's your beef?"
"No beef. Just taking snaps for the wife, Mrs. Xiang."
The three of us knew he was lying, but what was the point of pursuing it? Still, I knew this wasn't the end of it. I was going to be pursued and hounded until these guys absconded with Gerry's money.
"C'mon, Antonia," I said to my friend the prosecutor, taking her by the elbow and walking her backwards, away from the agent. "Let's go someplace and talk.”
Antonia shouted behind me, "Agent Leders, don't follow us where we're going or I'll be in court with Michael at two o'clock helping get that restraining order. And as a U.S. Attorney I promise you it won't end there, either. Now move on, sir, nothing to see here."
Without another word, Leders turned and drifted away, leaving us behind.
Antonia and I then proceeded to the Wee Tavern, where we stepped inside, removed our coats, and headed for the table at the very back.
It was time to find out what the feds knew about Gerry's death.
7
The lunch waitress took our drink order and left us alone. While she whipped up our coffees, we waited, studying the swag on the walls of the Wee Tavern. The owners evidently fancied the pub as somewhat Irish and themselves as curators of old photographs and random items Irish. Whatever, we were avoiding eye contact until it was time to talk. She served us and left us alone. We doctored our coffees and looked up.
"Okay, Michael, let's hear what's going on between you and the FBI."
I nodded and proceeded to impart to her, in somber tones, what had transpired up to that point. There was no need for me to swear her to secrecy going in; as friends, we were way down the road on that one. What we had, went far, far beyond the jobs we held or offices we represented. So I was free to talk and talk I did.
I concluded my history of the case with several choices, obscene comments about the FBI agent we'd just encountered, and then sat back. It was her turn.
"So this money," she began. "It seems to me the first thing to do is get a full account statement from the bank. I'm talking about the complete account history so you can find out when all deposits were made into the bank. Maybe the money Gerry Tybaum had in Russia was money that was rightfully his. In that case, you want to fend off the FBI no matter what. The money would belong to his kids, and the FBI would have to be driven away. You owe the kids that. On the other hand, if the deposit is one lump sum and if it coincides in time with the funds taken from the PAC, then you might simply be a witness to a criminal matter. You're not his attorney, and there's no attorney-client privilege owed. A power of attorney isn't a real attorney, necessarily, and there's no privilege between you and Gerry. So, yes, you can be forced to testify before a grand jury or risk going to jail. Which wouldn't be worth it, legally. But maybe morally you would feel a need to protect his kids and so morally you would refuse to talk. That would be a whole other thing, and that would be between you and your priest. It wouldn't be a legal matter then."
I nodded at her, sitting with my arms folded across my chest, my head cocked to the side, not missing anything she was saying.
"Great analysis, Antonia," I said to her. "I knew I could count on you. But there's another reason I came here besides your analysis, which I wanted. I'm wondering if you could take a look around and try to find out where the FBI and the prosecutor are with Gerry's case. Gerry was shot in D.C. so your office would be handling any prosecution that came out of it."
"I really can't do that, Michael. I would be in a world of hurt if it ever came to light that I was using my federal office to help you spy on a federal investigation. That has Obstruction of Justice written all over it."
"Yes, and to tell the truth I had thought of that. So if you think that's not something you can do I appreciate your position. Nor would I ever do anything to put you in jeopardy, Antonia. I hope you know that."
"I do," she said. "But why don't we try this." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "Why don't I check out the pending case lists in my office? Checking pending matters is something all prosecutors do maybe dozens of times a day. At least I know I do. That's one of the ways I get notice of new case assignments to my office. So I'd at least be able to do that and then we could talk it over. Something else I'm wondering about, too. How old are Gerry Tybaum's kids? Are these little kids we're talking about here who might need a guardian? Or are they adults now and able to speak for themselves. If they are adults, I'd suggest you talk to them and see what they might know about the money. Maybe their dad had talked to them at some point before he was murdered."
"That's my plan, to contact them while I'm here. The older girl and boy are probably fifteen or so years older than the youngest girl."
"Any of them connected to Russia in any way?"
"Not that I can find. Nor are they working for any federal agencies that are Russian, from what I can find out. This information might be incorrect, though, as I found out all this stuff on the Internet."
As we were talking, I was keeping an eye on the door. A lone woman had entered and taken a seat not far from us. But she was busy with her tablet, her reading glasses perched on her nose, and I thought nothing about it. As far as the FBI, Agent Leders seemed to have reconsidered following and recording us and had disappeared. Funny how flashing Antonia's U.S. Attorney's ID at federal agents can suddenly get their full attention. Hell, for all he knows, I'm working on a federal prosecution, and he's the one that might be obstructing justice. What's good for the goose, and all that.
"Let me ask you something," she said, ready to change the subject. "Have you ever thought about practicing law in Washington?"
I shook my head. "Not really. Why?"
She leaned closer. "I have the authority to hire four new attorneys for a Special Prosecutions team."
"In the U.S. Attorney's Office?"
"Yes. You'd be working as an Assistant U.S. Attorney. With your background and experience, I can bump you up and offer a great salary and case autonomy. Does this sound like something you'd like to try on?'
I thought about my Chicago law practice. I thought about Verona and my kids. The kids were doing well in school, and I wanted them to finish their school year in Evanston. My law practice consisted of fou
r lawyers who were virtually handling all the cases we had. There was no reason I couldn't sell out to them. The prospect of something new--of starting over as a young buck--hit me in the face. Hard. Plus, there was the aching hole in my heart left by Danny's death. I couldn't get her out of my mind, but I knew the law practice we operated together was no longer a healthy place for me to be. She had left too many fingerprints on that practice, and I needed to quit seeing them every day. Besides, opportunities like the one Antonia had laid out before me come along once in a lifetime--if you're lucky. I made my decision on the spot.
"Consider me in," I told her. "When do I start?"
"How soon can you get a place to live and pack a suitcase?"
"I need two weeks. I have law firm business to wrap up."
"What would you do?"
"Sell out. Since I lost Danny, I've lost all interest in the Chicago practice. It was ours together, you know. With her gone, there's a huge hole I fall into every time I go into the office. God, I miss Danny. A change would be very welcome about now."
"We'll show you starting the first of next month. That works?"
"It does."
"Then give me a hug. I'm your new supervisor."
"And a lucky man I am to get the chance to work for you. Thank you."
"Now. What about Gerry Tybaum's money? Can you wrap that up right away?'
"I'm going to contact the Tybaum children this afternoon and see how that works. That might be another reason to be in D.C. at least part-time."
"Do you know who they are?"
"No."
"It's all in my file back at the office. Let me email you their names and addresses."
"Excellent, Antonia, and I'll do everything I can to finish up the favor I was doing Gerry."
"Great. I need you to close that case, so there's no appearance of conflict between their claim on his money and the work you'll be doing on the case for the government."
"What, I'll be working on the Gerry Tybaum case?"
"That's the plan, Michael. You know the most about it, so why not?"
Yes, why not? I'd love to nail whoever killed the man who trusted me with his children's inheritance.
That settled it for me. That and the thought of the Tybaum kids now without their father.
"Absolutely no reason why not. I'm in one hundred percent."
8
It was just after two o'clock when we hugged goodbye at the Monument. She would text me about the kids' address.
Twenty minutes later my phone pulsed with the new text. Now I had the kids' info and address. I was hoping to see what insight I might get from them on the Russian money.
I called Jarrod Tybaum's listed number in Virginia. Jarrod was distant because he didn't know me from Adam, but after a few minutes of back-and-forth with me, he confirmed his address. I grabbed a taxi and headed off. Crystal City was just south on Highway 1 and traffic was light, so we made good time. The cab fare was exorbitant, but it beat a car rental and following a GPS. At least this way I could sit back with my broadband and laptop and check email and messages. I also took a few minutes to call Martin Tinsley, the number two lawyer in my practice who is also our managing attorney. I broke the news to him that I was selling out. He pushed back at first and told me all the reasons I couldn't leave the Chicago law firm I'd founded, but eventually he heard the determination in my voice, and my words settled over him, and he finally relented. He said he'd talk it over with the others and get back to me. We then hung up.
We pulled up at Jarrod's address, and I asked the cabbie to wait while I kept my appointment. He told me he'd have to keep his meter running and I told him that I'd had worse things happen to me in life than that. He smiled, and I climbed out.
The doorbell chime could be heard from the front porch, those same tones we all know so well. Minutes later the door opened.
There sat Jarrod Tybaum, wheelchair-bound, his face contorted into the best smile he could make. He checked my ID then waved me inside.
Then the tone turned friendly. "Thanks for coming," he said over his shoulder as he rolled into the living room with me close behind. "You're here about my dad. Anything my sister and I can find out about him will be great."
Much to my surprise, Jarrod had called his sister, and she was primed and ready in the living room. She was a tall woman, red dress, and low heels, with a gorgeous scarf around her throat and a beetle brooch above her heart. Her brown hair was cut short, and I guessed she was maybe all of twenty-five. I would have pegged Jarrod at twenty-five, too. Twins? Very possible.
"I'm Mona," she said solemnly and with a hint of reticence as people often do when meeting me for the first time, my scarred face and all.
"And I'm Michael Gresham."
"This is Annie, our baby sister," Mona said, walking up to a girl of about twelve who sat on the floor immersed in her laptop. "Annie is our special girl. Aren't you Annie?"
Annie gave no indication she had heard any of what was said. Her legs were crossed as she sat bent forward snapping her fingers across the keyboard. Then she looked up at me and our eyes connected just for a moment. A feeling was shared between us. I could sense her loss of her father and how sad she was: it was the same feeling I had over the loss of Danny, my wife. I didn’t know how, but somehow those feelings between us connected and drew me to her. Without even thinking about what I was feeling I knew I'd do anything within my power to help her. I'm like that with kids anyway—a total basket case when it comes to a kid in need. Add-in the sense of loss she silently projected and I was hooked. At the same time I was feeling this strange warmth toward Annie, I was filled with a desire to locate and execute their father's murderer.
Jarrod maneuvered his wheelchair, snugging up beside his twin sister's wingback chair. I sat across from them and put my laptop down beside me in the chair. I had brought it along because I didn't know exactly what to expect, but it had a PDF of the power of attorney in Gerry's file, and I planned on showing that to the kids. Which I did, first off.
"Why I'm here, your dad came to see me just two days before he was killed. He signed a power of attorney appointing me as his power-of-attorney. Here's what it looks like." I held the laptop toward them, and Mona leaned forward, taking it from my hands. She sat back and held it up so Jarrod could get a look along with her.
"Okay," Jarrod said, "You're dad's POA. Why was it necessary for him to have a POA?"
I didn’t deny I was no longer the POA since Gerry was dead. Why not? Because I wanted to see it through to the end, see whether the Russians might cough up the money.
"Well, let me answer your question with one of my own. Did your father ever talk to either of you about a bank account in the Cayman Islands?"
The two older children looked at each other. "No," they said in unison.
"Well, there is a bank account there, and Gerry wanted you to have the money in it. That's why he appointed me his POA, so I'd get the money to you."
Jarrod bit his lower lip and traded a look with his sister, who rolled her eyes.
"What?" I said. "Is something wrong?"
"Dad never gave us anything. We understand even his will leaves us out. Everything goes to Annie, which we fully support."
"Did he leave anything to your mother?"
"He would have, but mom died several years ago. No, his will leaves everything to Annie."
"You mean this house too?"
"No, not the house. We were all joint tenants on the house with the right of survivorship," Jarrod said. "That was because I have CP and dad wanted me to have someplace to live."
"Cerebral palsy?"
"Yes."
"Sorry. I maybe knew that, and it slipped my mind."
"So you didn't think the wheelchair was my idea of fun?"
His voice had raised a notch. I pulled back and said, almost meekly, "No, and I didn't intend anything. I said I'm sorry for your situation and I meant it."
He cooled down and backed off. "Okay, okay. We're all o
n edge here. So tell us about Moscow. How much money and when do we get it?"
"Let me take the last part first. You'll get it as soon as I give the bank directions where to wire the funds. So I'm going to ask you for a bank account you want it wired to. I'll need the name or names on the account, routing number, account number, and wire number. Can you do that?"
"Sure," Mona said. "Just wait here, Jarrod, I'll grab your checkbook and give him the numbers."
"Top right-hand drawer of the roll top," he called after her.
"Roger that," she replied.
Jarrod and I were left staring at each other. It was uncomfortable for me, mainly because just moments ago I thought he might take a swing at me. Annie continued with her construction on the floor. Now and then she would pause and scratch absently at a red welt on her leg.
But Mona soon returned, handing a checkbook to her brother.
"Okay, here are the names and numbers."
I had my laptop open and was ready. He recited the information I needed and folded his checkbook. "Get all that?"
"I did," I said. "Thank you."
"So back to my original question. How much are we getting?"
"Twelve million. Four million apiece."
Silence. Jarrod's face twitched. Mona studied her hands, neither one of them looked up at me.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
"It's just that it must be a mistake. Dad never made over a hundred thousand a year in his life. He lived for his PAC, and he took the minimal salary. There are federal laws about that, you know. He wanted to comply. He constantly worried that he was going to do something wrong, so he paid a law firm to keep him on track. He must have paid the lawyers more every year than he paid himself in salary. That was just how he was," Mona said.
"I agree," said Jarrod. "He needed something to immerse himself in after mom died. His PAC meant everything to him, and he would never do anything to foul it up."
Which left me wondering. On the one hand, Gerry said the money just appeared in an account in the Caymans. But what if that wasn't the true story? What if he had embezzled it? But that just wasn't who Gerry was. He didn't do stuff like that. If the money came from the PAC, that would have been way out of character. I wondered whether he would have survived criminal charges of embezzlement had he lived? Would a case even have been filed against him? It would be a difficult case; embezzlement of PAC funds would fly in the face of everything Gerry held dear. It would all come down to the forensic banking evidence--about which I knew nothing. Yet.
Annie's Verdict (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 6) Page 4
