When she came downstairs the following morning, Jeff was alone in the kitchen preparing scrambled eggs and cooking bacon for breakfast.
“Smells good,” she said, glancing at the bacon sizzling in the skillet.
“It’s been awhile since I gave the kids something hot for breakfast. Ian can eat bacon with one hand.”
Amy poured a cup of coffee and took a sip.
“Do you know a man named Larry Kelly?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
Jeff poured milk into the bowl where he’d put the raw eggs.
“There’s a guy named Richard Kelly who works as an inspector for the building authority, but I think he goes by Ricky. Why?”
“I heard the name in a dream last night. I thought maybe he was someone who’d been arrested recently, and I saw his name in the paper.”
“Not that I remember,” Jeff said as he added salt to the egg mixture.
“Maybe I can use the name in my new novel. I haven’t identified the bad guy who is the sheriff of the fictitious county on the Texas border.”
“Sheriff Kelly works for me.” Jeff turned his attention to the bacon and used a long fork to expertly turn over the strips. “Do you think this is too done?”
Amy peered into the skillet. “Ian likes it crisp; Megan limp. I’d take a couple of pieces out for her.”
“What about you?”
“None for me, but I’ll eat a bite or two of eggs if the kids leave any.”
Amy went upstairs to get dressed for work. When she returned to the kitchen, Ian was scraping more scrambled eggs onto his plate with a large plastic spoon. Megan wasn’t in sight.
“These eggs are great,” Ian said to Jeff.
“Your dad makes the best breakfast on earth,” Amy said with a smile. “Where’s Megan?”
“Already come and gone back upstairs. She didn’t want any breakfast but asked for a cup of coffee.”
“And you let her have one?” Amy asked.
“Yeah, she caught me off guard. She added creamer and sugar like she knew what she was doing. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn it was you.”
Megan returned to the kitchen and put an empty coffee cup in the dishwasher.
“When did you start drinking coffee?” Amy asked.
“At school. Mr. Ryan has a pot in his room every morning and shares it with a few of us. It’s an acquired taste.”
“Yes, it is,” Amy said. “And I don’t want you relying on caffeine to jump-start your day.”
“You and Dad do.”
Amy glanced at Jeff, who shrugged.
“If you drink a cup here, don’t have another one at school,” Amy said. “One cup is enough.”
“How many do you have?” Megan asked.
“I’d like some coffee,” Ian popped up before Amy could answer. “Bobby’s grandmother lets him drink it with breakfast when he spends the night with her.”
“No, you’re too young,” Amy said to him, then turned to Megan. “And one cup is enough at your age.”
“Then I’ll wait until I get to school where drinking a cup of coffee doesn’t start World War III,” Megan replied.
Amy spoke to Ian. “And remember, you shouldn’t increase your caffeine intake while your broken arm is healing.”
“What?” Ian asked.
“Caffeine isn’t good for your bones,” Jeff said. “The doctor told you to stay away from soft drinks for a few weeks? It’s the same with coffee.”
“How are your bones?” Ian challenged.
“Strong enough,” Jeff said.
Jeff held out his arm. Ian wrapped his good arm around his father’s bicep, and Jeff lifted him a few inches off the floor.
“Stop,” Amy said. “We don’t need two broken arms.”
Jeff lowered Ian and moved his arm back and forth.
“My arm feels fine,” Jeff said.
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
Jeff was still at the house when the children left to catch the school bus. He rinsed the breakfast dishes at the sink and washed the skillet by hand. Amy dried the skillet with a dish towel.
“Megan throws me a curveball when I least expect it,” Amy said as she hung the skillet on a hook above the stove.
“Coffee now, beer later,” Jeff said.
“How can you be so nonchalant about it?” Amy asked. “That sort of thing is serious.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Jeff was right. His father had battled a drinking problem, but he’d been sober for twenty years.
“And at the right time, I’ll tell Megan about my dad,” Jeff continued. “She knows him as a kind, gentle man. A totally different side came out when he’d knocked back too many drinks. He was a real Jekyll and Hyde. It might be better to ask him to talk to her.”
“He’d do it. Did you ever apologize to Megan for the way you acted at the meeting with Nate Drexel?”
“I tried, but she cut me off and told me everything was okay. I think she realized I was upset because I cared about her.”
During the drive to the office, Amy thought about Larry Kelly. It was a decent name for the evil sheriff in Deeds of Darkness. But in her heart, she suspected that wasn’t the only reason she’d heard the name in the night.
She logged on to her computer. The firm paid a lot of money so the employees could access a massive national database and find personal information on just about anyone. When Amy was first trained to use it, she was stunned by the breadth of data revealed in the reports. The scope of personal privacy was a lot smaller than most people thought.
It was routine practice for Amy and the other staff at the firm to run a search on opposing parties, witnesses, and potential jurors. Amy typed in the name Larry Kelly and waited. The program came back with hundreds of matches. She would need more specific information to conduct a meaningful search. Adjusting her glasses, she closed the program and began organizing Mr. Phillips’s mail.
In her dictation queue was a memo regarding a new matter for the Thompson Trust. Raymond Thompson and his company had been Mr. Phillips’s biggest client for years. After Mr. Thompson died, control of his assets was transferred to a family trust. Mr. Phillips served as trustee, and his duties for the beneficiaries consumed a considerable amount of his time.
In the memo, Mr. Phillips revealed that he’d received a letter from a solicitor in London who represented a man named Vernon Carville. Mr. Carville claimed his deceased father served in the military with Mr. Thompson, who, like Sanford Dominick, was a World War II veteran. While Sonny Dominick was hacking his way through the jungle trying to avoid Japanese patrols, Raymond Thompson was hanging out in pubs making friends with British officers. Carville claimed his deceased father, a retired British officer, had a business relationship with Mr. Thompson involving mineral interests in Nigeria. In the memo, Mr. Phillips indicated there was nothing in the firm files about this type of investment, and it would have to be reviewed carefully.
It all sounded suspicious to Amy.
“No,” she said out loud.
“What are you talking about?” a male voice asked.
Chris Lance was standing in the doorway.
“Nothing,” Amy said.
Chris shook his head. “That avoidance strategy isn’t going to work with me. Out with what you’re thinking about unless it’s personal. What are you working on?”
“A memo from Mr. Phillips about the Thompson Trust.”
“Yeah, he talked to me about that. It has to do with Nigerian oil and mineral rights. What’s the problem?”
“Nothing specific, just a creepy feeling. I’ve read about how much corruption there is in Nigeria and all the Internet scams that originate there. If Mr. Thompson had business interests there, they could be shady.”
“The British lawyer says Thompson and Carville paid pennies for oil and mineral rights that have been dormant for years. The government changed so many times that approval to move forward never happened until a few months
ago. Now there are wells in the southern part of the country that are producing oil, and Carville says the Thompson Trust will be receiving money for its share.”
“That would be good.”
“Yes,” Chris said. “So why would you think it might be bad?”
“Like I said, it’s just a feeling.”
“You may be right.”
“I don’t understand,” Amy replied. “You just agreed that it would be good.”
“The trust will have to spend money to make money. That’s where the big issue comes in. And as trustee, Mr. Phillips is feeling some heat about it.”
Amy knew the beneficiaries of the trust weren’t an easygoing group.
“If that feeling gets specific,” Chris continued, “I want to know why, okay?”
“All right.” Amy nodded. “Oh, I’m glad you came by. One of the lawyers on the other side of the Westside Lighting case filed a supplemental response to your motion. It was served on Mr. Phillips because he’s the lead counsel of record. I put it on his desk.”
“What did it say?”
“I didn’t read it.”
“Make me a copy, and I’ll review it later.”
After Chris left, Amy began checking the Thompson Trust memo for typographical errors. The door between her office and Mr. Phillips’s office was cracked open, and she heard the senior partner come in. A few minutes later she heard him explode.
“What? This is outrageous!”
Amy sat up straighter and wondered what she’d done wrong. The next thing she heard was Mr. Phillips’s voice on the phone.
“Chris! Get down to my office. Now!”
Mr. Phillips was often intense and intimidating, most recently toward her. But losing his temper was not something she’d witnessed more than a handful of times during the years she’d worked at the firm. She could hear him muttering as he waited for Chris to arrive. Amy got up to close the door between their offices but hesitated. As she stood beside the door, she heard Chris come in.
“Yes, sir,” Chris said in a voice that didn’t try to hide the young lawyer’s apprehension. “You wanted to see me.”
“Sit down and read this!” Mr. Phillips roared.
Amy found herself not wanting to breathe. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Each passing second felt like a minute.
“I had no idea—” Chris began in a voice that was even more unsteady than when he’d entered the office.
“If I thought you did, you wouldn’t be sitting in that chair!” Mr. Phillips interrupted with a loud voice. “I would have sent Ms. Kirkpatrick upstairs to lock you out of your computer and escort you off the premises immediately!”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Phillips was silent for a moment.
“You realize the judge is going to grant their request for sanctions, including attorney’s fees.”
If Chris responded, Amy couldn’t hear it. Mr. Phillips continued.
“You’ve dragged the reputation of this firm, which I’ve spent almost forty years building and protecting, through the mud. The other judges will know about it before the end of the day. There is no way to estimate how much damage this will do to our credibility in every case we argue for who knows how long.”
“Yes, sir,” Chris replied in a weak voice. “Do you want me to file a response with the court informing the judge that no one else in the firm knew about Baldwin’s testimony? Under the circumstances, I should take sole blame for the submission of perjured testimony.”
At the mention of Michael Baldwin’s name and perjured testimony, Amy felt herself grow light-headed.
“I signed the brief, too!” Mr. Phillips raised his voice again.
“Yes, sir, but—”
“Get out!” Mr. Phillips barked. “I’m going to call a meeting of the partners and discuss what we should do. Notifying our malpractice insurance carrier will be one of the first steps. If we don’t reach an agreement with the client, we will most certainly be sued, which will be all over the local newspaper.”
“Do you want me to resign from the firm?” Chris asked from a different spot in the room that Amy guessed was close to the door.
“We’ll make that decision, not you.”
Amy heard the door open and close. The phone on her desk buzzed. She almost fell down reaching for it.
“Yes, sir,” she said breathlessly.
“Notify the partners to drop what they’re doing and meet me in the main conference room in five minutes. If anyone tries to give you an excuse, let me know immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Amy’s heart was pounding in her chest as she made the calls. Three of the partners were in the office and available to meet. The fourth was out of town at a hearing in a neighboring county.
twenty-four
After Mr. Phillips left for the meeting with the other partners, Amy slipped into his office and checked his desk for the supplemental response. It wasn’t there. He’d probably taken it with him to the meeting. She didn’t know specifically what had happened in the Westside Lighting case, but it was obviously much worse than she’d imagined. She returned to her desk and plopped down in her chair. She felt a mixture of guilt and sympathy. Guilt toward herself because she’d not spoken up and strongly warned Chris to be careful about relying on Baldwin’s testimony, and sympathy for the young lawyer, who was now probably sitting in his office staring out the window with a stunned look on his face.
Not able to do any work, she sat in front of a blank computer screen and prayed for the men in the conference room. An hour later she heard Mr. Phillips return to his office. The light for the senior partner’s phone came on, but Amy couldn’t hear who he was talking to or what was said. That call ended, and he buzzed her. She jumped up and went into his office. Amy felt like her eyes were bugging out of her head.
“What are you working on for Chris Lance?” Mr. Phillips asked before Amy could sit down.
“I just finished a long memo he dictated about the Dominick estate litigation.”
“Give it to me. I’m going to take over responsibility for some of his work. If you see anything in his files that doesn’t look right, let me know immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Amy swallowed.
Mr. Phillips looked down at his desk. Amy remained where she was. Mr. Phillips glanced up.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
Amy returned to her desk feeling sick to her stomach. Several times she’d come to the brink of warning Chris about Michael Baldwin, but fear held her back. Now it looked like he was going to lose his job, and it was her fault. She paced back and forth across her tiny office a few times, then picked up her phone and buzzed Mr. Phillips.
“What is it?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“May I come in for a moment?”
“Why?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“All right, if you can make it quick.”
Not entirely sure what she was going to say, Amy returned to the senior lawyer’s office. He wrinkled his forehead and stared at her.
“I know there was a problem with the testimony from Michael Baldwin in the Westside Lighting case,” Amy began. “I overheard part of your conversation with Chris about it.”
“Which should not be discussed with any of the staff.”
“Yes, sir.” Amy paused. “I’m not exactly sure what happened in the case, but I believe I made a mistake as well.”
“How?”
“When I was typing the motion and brief, I had a serious question in my mind about Michael Baldwin’s testimony but didn’t mention it to Chris or to you. I should have spoken up about it.”
“What did you suspect?”
“That Baldwin had been paid by someone to say what he did in his deposition, and the truth was going to come out eventually.”
Mr. Phillips raised his eyebrows. “Did you read the supplemental response we received this morning?”
“N
o, sir.”
“Were you aware Chris didn’t review the financial documents in our possession, which should have let him know something was seriously wrong?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how did you reach that conclusion?”
Amy rested her hand on a chair to steady herself.
“I had a dream about it. And sometimes my dreams are about actual people and events.”
Mr. Phillips’s mouth dropped open, and he raised his eyebrows.
“I’ve had vivid dreams since I was a little girl,” Amy continued, “but it’s only been in the past few months that there have been connections to real situations. I don’t expect other people to base what they do on my dreams, but if I’d warned Chris, he might have done some digging and not been deceived by Baldwin.”
“Tell me exactly what you saw in your dream.”
Amy took a big breath. “Jeff and I met Baldwin when we bought some lights for our family room a few years ago. I remember him because he has a big handlebar mustache and puts a lot of wax on it. In the dream I saw Baldwin and a man I didn’t recognize. Both of them were dressed in black. The man handed Baldwin a check that was the size of those huge checks they print when someone wins the lottery. Baldwin turned around and suddenly realized a crowd of people was watching him. He got a shocked look on his face. That was it.”
“I’m not sure what to think about that,” Mr. Phillips said with a puzzled look on his face.
“Did someone pay Baldwin to lie?”
“Yes, and there was a poorly executed effort to hide what happened. We obtained financial records in discovery that should have led to questions, which in turn would have led to the truth. Chris was so excited about Baldwin’s testimony that he didn’t do his homework.”
“I should have warned him.” Amy’s lower lip trembled. “And if the firm fires Chris, it will be my fault.”
“If Chris is fired, it won’t be because of anything you did or didn’t do. Our decision whether or not to terminate Chris won’t be because of your dream.”
“He’s not been fired?”
“Not yet, although it’s still under discussion. The immediate plan is to scale back his responsibilities and closely supervise anything he does.” Mr. Phillips stopped and stared at Amy. “All of which is none of your business.”
The Living Room Page 24
