The Activist tb-4

by John Grisham

  The old wooden floors creaked as he headed back to his office. It had once been an old storage closet. To get there he always walked through two larger storage areas, filled with countless white cardboard boxes stacked neatly together. Things were changing, though. The digital age was dragging older lawyers like the Boones into the world of paperless files and storage, and not a minute too soon, in Theo’s opinion. Why destroy so many trees to produce so much paper that becomes useless almost as fast as it is filed away? He’d had these discussions with his parents. At the age of thirteen, Theo was already a tree hugger.

  There was a table where Dorothy and Vince placed files before they were officially boxed away for permanent storage. As Theo walked by it, something caught his attention. It was the name JOE FORD in bold letters on the side of a large expandable file. Evidently, Mr. Boone, having been fired by Joe Ford, was cleaning out his files and putting them away. This was somewhat unusual because Mr. Boone was notorious for leaving stacks of old files around his office for years after they were no longer needed. His brother Ike had the same habit.

  Theo took a step closer and looked at the tabs in the Ford file. There was one labeled Sweeney Road. He knew better than to pry, but then Theo had a habit of being too curious, especially around the office. He opened the Sweeney Road file, flipped through a half inch of papers, and found what he thought he might find. The document was called an option—a rather simple title, and it gave the buyer the option, or the right, to buy two hundred acres of land from the seller, a Mr. Walt Beeson. Who was the real buyer? On paper it was an outfit called Parkin Land Trust (PLT), a corporation that had just been created and done so in a way to conceal the faces of the people behind it. Since the option he was holding came from one of Joe Ford’s files, it was pretty obvious to Theo that Fast Ford had set up another company to hide behind.

  Most documents regarding land and land transactions were required to be filed for public record in the county courthouse. Options, though, were not recorded, and Theo knew this. As he read on, it became clear the rumors were correct. Mr. Beeson would sell his two hundred acres near Sweeney Road to PLT if, and only if, the county commissioners voted to approve the bypass. At that time, PLT would pay Mr. Beeson the sum of $10,000 an acre, or a total of $2,000,000. If the county commissioners rejected the bypass, then PLT would owe Mr. Beeson the cost of the option, $50,000, and walk away.

  There was a paragraph requiring both parties to keep the option as quiet as possible. Secrecy and confidentiality were crucial to the deal, which appeared on the surface to be a straightforward option. Nothing illegal. Developers like Joe Ford did their business by picking the next hot real estate spots and building on them. If they guessed right, they made a lot of money. If they guessed wrong, they lost a lot of money.

  Theo wondered how Ike had learned of this deal, but he really wasn’t surprised. Ike had a knack for hearing things around town. Theo kept flipping pages. The option was signed by Mr. Walt Beeson, as seller, and by a Mr. Frederick Coyle, a vice president of Parkin Land Trust. No sign of Joe Ford, yet. Under another tab, Theo noticed the words Parkin Land Trust, Inc., and he pulled it out. It contained the documents of the newly created PLT Corporation, a company Mr. Boone had put together only a month earlier. Theo scanned the documents, the office notes, even the handwritten scribble of his father, something he easily recognized. The new company had four owners, or stockholders: Joe Ford owned 50 percent; Frederick Coyle owned 20 percent; Stu Malzone owned 20 percent; and Peter Kyzer owned 10 percent. Theo had never heard of Coyle, Malzone, or Kyzer, and he quickly scribbled down their names. He placed the file in exactly the same position he’d found it, and hustled back to his office. If he needed to see it again, he knew where to find it.

  He locked the rear door of the office and sped home. Upstairs, alone with Judge and with his door locked, he opened his laptop and began searching the white pages. He quickly found the addresses, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses of Coyle, Malzone, and Kyzer, all of whom lived either in the city or county. Theo searched Mr. Coyle and learned he had been sued by a business partner six months earlier. Theo made a note to check the file in the courthouse. A Google search of Mr. Kyzer produced a recent story in a local business magazine featuring him and his string of gas stations where an oil change cost $20 and could be done while you waited. He was forty years old and loved to fly helicopters and duck hunt, among other things.

  There wasn’t much to be found on Mr. Stu Malzone, but one brief entry from an old copy of the Strattenburg Gazette put icing on the cake. It was a wedding announcement two years earlier. Stu Malzone, age twenty-three, had just gotten himself engaged to one Belinda Stak, age twenty-one, daughter of Mr. Mitchell Stak. Both bride and groom were students at Stratten College. The engagement photo showed the smiling faces of two young people who looked younger than their ages.

  Theo checked the white pages again to verify what he almost knew to be true—there was only one Mitchell Stak in Strattenburg.

  His head was spinning as he tried to line up the facts and put them in order. Mr. Joe “Fast” Ford was secretly buying land to develop to make a killing when the bypass was built. To do so, he set up the PLT Corporation to hide behind. The five county commissioners would vote to approve or not approve the bypass. The loudest supporter of the five was Mr. Mitchell Stak. His son-in-law, Stu, now twenty-seven years old, had been given a 20 percent share of PLT by Joe Ford, and done so in a way that it would not be made known. On paper, a 20 percent share was worth $400,000, and that was before Joe Ford set about developing the land. It was safe to assume that the 20 percent share would be worth far more after Joe Ford leveled the property and covered it with motels, strip malls, fast-food joints, and parking lots.

  Theo suddenly had a knot in his stomach, a thick, throbbing sensation that made him feel sick. He walked to his bathroom, splashed some water in his face, and said a few words to Judge, who seemed completely unconcerned.

  An hour later, Theo was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer open and neglected on his chest. He hadn’t been able to finish a single paragraph.

  He kept thinking about his father. Woods Boone was a well-respected lawyer who took great pride in ethics and professionalism. He was scornful of other lawyers who cut corners and got into trouble. He served on Bar Association committees to promote proper behavior among lawyers. And on and on. How could his father be involved in such a shady deal? He had prepared the paperwork to create the PLT Corporation, and had represented Joe Ford for years. Mr. Boone had even supported the bypass during family discussions.

  Theo admitted to himself there was a good chance his father did not know Stu Malzone. In fact, he’d probably never met him. Maybe he had never met Mr. Coyle and Mr. Kyzer. Theo wanted to believe his father was working only for Joe Ford and doing what the client asked him to do. Theo clung to this belief, but he was still bothered by what he had discovered.

  No crime had been committed; not by Joe Ford and certainly not by Mr. Boone. But something was wrong. If it was true that a close member of Mr. Stak’s family would pocket a nice profit from the approval of the bypass, and if this were made known before the vote, then Mr. Stak would be humiliated and maybe run off the County Commission. Making it known before the vote might kill the bypass.

  Theo knew, though, that he was in possession of information he wasn’t supposed to have. Once again, he had sniffed through the secret files of Boone & Boone and allowed his prying eyes to see things that were forbidden.

  Now what was he supposed to do? Maybe Ike would know.

  Chapter 23

  By the end of the school day on Monday, the little gang of activists had put together an impressive list of almost 400 kids who played soccer at the complex. Chase, the mad scientist and computer whiz, and sometime hacker, in the eighth grade, had been recruited to join the effort. Using the videos of the license plates taken by Theo and April the previous Saturday at the complex, the team made a list of a
ll the cars, trucks, and vans. Meanwhile, Chase attacked the county’s online vehicle registration records, and in less than thirty minutes had found his way into a file listing the names and addresses of all owners. These names led to a lot of kids’ names.

  Some names led to Facebook pages and e-mail addresses; others did not. Not immediately anyway. But the longer the activists toyed with their list, and tweaked it, and added to it, the more solid information they had.

  Their plan was taking shape. They even had their own Facebook page and called it, “Bypass to Nowhere.”

  Unlike most of the mandatory Monday afternoon visits, today Theo really wanted to talk to Ike. Around 5:00 p.m., he left Judge at the office and raced away on his bike. Ike’s office was only five minutes away from Boone & Boone, the firm he had cofounded twenty-five years earlier. That firm had prospered well over the years, while Ike was banished to the bush leagues with no license to practice law and little to do but prepare tax returns for people without a lot of money.

  “How’s my favorite nephew?” Ike asked as Theo fell into a rickety chair.

  Same question every Monday. Theo, Ike’s only nephew, replied, “Great, Ike, and how’s everything in your world?”

  Ike smiled and waved his arms around as if to say, “Look at my world. It’s beautiful.” It was not. It was cramped and dingy and depressing, and Ike’s world was not a happy one. “Couldn’t be better,” he said. “You wanna beer?”

  “Sure,” Theo replied.

  Ike reached into a small refrigerator partially hidden under a credenza and pulled out two drinks—a bottle of beer and a can of Sprite. Theo got the green one as Ike popped another top. Bob Dylan was singing softly in the background.

  Ike took a long slurp and said, “So how’s school these days?”

  “School is a boring waste of time,” Theo said. “I should be in college getting ready for law school.”

  “You’re thirteen years old, not exactly college material. You’d look pretty silly walking around a college campus with a mouth full of braces.”

  “Thanks, Ike, for reminding me.”

  “Stick with the eighth grade for now. Straight A’s still?”

  “Close.” The last thing Theo wanted was another painful discussion about his grades. He wasn’t sure why Ike thought he had the right to pester Theo about his grades. “I met Joe Ford last week,” he blurted, to radically change the subject.

  Ike took another sip and said, “I’m sure that was a real thrill. Where?”

  “At the office. He was there seeing my dad on some legal matter. He’s the kind of guy who thinks talking to a kid is a waste of time.”

  “If Joe Ford can’t make a buck off you, then he has no time for a little chitchat.”

  “Then he fired my dad. He got mad when he saw me and Judge in the newspaper vowing to fight the thugs who want to build the bypass.”

  “That was a bit strong.”

  “So. I was mad. And Dad got mad too when Boone and Boone lost such a valuable client. I’m not sure why our little law firm represents people like Mr. Ford, but I guess that’s none of my business.”

  After a long pause, Ike said, “Look, Theo, I’ve never met Joe Ford. I guess I know some things about him, same as most folks in town. I doubt if he is a crook. Let’s just say he’s a typical businessman who’s always looking for the next opportunity. That’s the American way, right? And guys like Ford need lawyers, so there’s nothing wrong with your father doing legal work for him. A law firm has gotta pay the bills, Theo.”

  “What if I saw something?” Theo blurted. “Around the office, some old files, you know what I mean, Ike?”

  Ike glared at him. Theo’s snooping around the office had caused problems in the past, and those problems usually ended up involving Ike. He asked cautiously, “Something to do with Mr. Ford and one of his deals?”

  Theo just nodded.

  “Something to do with the Sweeney Road property and the bypass?”

  Theo just nodded.

  “Something that I probably do not know about?”

  Theo just nodded.

  “Something that Fast Ford is hiding?”

  Theo just nodded.

  “Have you hacked into the firm’s digital storage files again?”

  Theo said, “No, and I wasn’t snooping. I was minding my own business when I stumbled across some Joe Ford files someone had placed on a table to be retired.”

  Ike knew that Theo was rarely minding his own business around the law office. Ike slowly stood, stretched, rubbed his beard, then walked to a shelf and turned off the stereo. He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and said, “Don’t tell me anything else, Theo. The lawyer-client relationship is strictly confidential. Every client has the right to be protected—every current client and every former client. Those files are none of your business and you were wrong to look through them.”

  Theo suddenly felt lousy. He knew Ike was right, though he was not expecting such a sharp rebuke. But, Ike wasn’t finished. “I don’t care what’s in those files. Theo, you have to forget about it. Am I clear?”

  Oh yes.

  “A lawyer has a duty to protect his client. Period.”

  “Got it, Ike.”

  Ike fell into his swivel chair and stared at his nephew. There was another long pause. Theo finally asked, “Should I tell my dad?”

  “No. Just bury it.”

  “Okay.”

  Theo left a few minutes later. Riding slowly back to the office, he still could not accept the fact that his secret information would remain buried in a retired file, boxed away in the depths of Boone & Boone. It did not seem fair.

  Chapter 24

  After the final bell Tuesday, the activists hurriedly gathered in the school’s auditorium. The room would be vacant for about thirty minutes, until rehearsal began for a sixth-grade production. Mr. Mount had bargained for thirty minutes on the grounds that his debate team needed some vague form of practice. They quickly arranged the stage to appear ready for a real debate, with a podium in the center and a long folding table on each side. Since it wasn’t a real debate, chairs were moved in close and filled with fake spectators, a dozen or so friends drafted by Theo and Hardie. To improve the quality of the video, Mr. Mount used a camera on a tripod. When everyone was in place, Mr. Mount announced, off camera, “And now, Theodore Boone.”

  Theo stood from behind his table. To his right were Hardie, Chase, and Woody, all four wearing clip-on ties and bright-yellow surgical face masks. Theo walked to the podium and nodded to the opposing team, which consisted of Justin, Brian, Darren, and Edward, four other volunteers from Mr. Mount’s homeroom. They, too, had bad clip-on ties and the yellow masks. The spectators, including April and some guys from Hardie’s homeroom, were bunched together close to the podium. Their faces were also hidden behind yellow surgical masks.

  Hardie’s father had found the masks online. Nine bucks for a carton of fifty, available in every color imaginable.

  Theo yanked his down and looked at the camera. With a frown he said, “My name is Theo Boone, and today the issue before us is the so-called Red Creek Bypass.” He coughed twice, then covered his nose and mouth with the mask. Next to the podium was a large map of the county with the bypass highlighted in bloodred as if it were a deadly gash on the landscape. Theo pointed and said, “This bypass will take Highway 75 around the city of Strattenburg, out here into a more rural area, where it will destroy fifty homes, several farms, a hiking trail, a historic church, and it will bring about twenty-five thousand cars and trucks a day to the front door of Jackson Elementary School.”

  On cue, the spectators hissed and booed.

  Theo continued: “It will also take out part of this soccer complex and cross the Red Creek River in two places.”

  More booing and hissing.

  “The bypass will cost two hundred million dollars and is being pushed hard by businessmen, politicians, and trucking companies north and south of Strattenburg.
”

  More booing and hissing.

  “One of the worst aspects of this bypass is right here, at Jackson Elementary School, home to about four hundred students from prekindergarten through fifth grade. There has been no reliable study as to the noise and pollution near this school, but it’s safe to say that the quality of air will be greatly harmed.”

  On cue, everybody started coughing, even the members of the opposing debate team. Theo, with great drama, said, “In short, this bypass is a bad project, a waste of money, a dangerous idea, and it should never be built.” He stomped away from the podium as if ready for a fistfight.

  The spectators managed to stop coughing and began applauding.

  For the other side, Justin rushed to the podium, and from behind his bright-yellow mask said, “On the contrary, this bypass is needed so that some folks can make more profits. Trucking companies, land developers, construction companies—all of these and more will make huge profits. That’s especially good for them, but it’s also good for us.”

  A loud round of booing and hissing from the spectators.

  “The more money they make, the more taxes they pay—well, some of them anyway—and the more taxes we rake in, the more stuff our leaders can do with it. Don’t you see?”

  The spectators did not see and continued their show of displeasure.

  Mr. Mount stepped forward and said, “Okay, let’s cut for a minute and rethink this.”

  The goal was a two-minute video, with the debate scene burning about thirty seconds. Under Mr. Mount’s direction, they did another take, then another. On the third take, the two teams actually began yelling at each other, with names like “Liar!” “Crook!” and “Sleazebag!” thrown in for a bit of exaggerated drama. The spectators tossed debris at the podium while Justin ranted on.