On the way, he picked up his tuxedo at the dry-cleaners on 44th treet, carried it to the subway station. He was going to rent one for the party, but Raphael had convinced him that renting would be a waste because there'd be many more black tie affairs to come. When he'd bought the tux weeks ago, he still had a sense of excitement, thinking he could make it at the Firm, be an S & A partner some day. Now he wasn't so sure.
Inside the Death Star, he hurried through the lobby, slipped into the elevator, looking down at the polished floor the entire time. The space was crowded, but he didn't look up. He was embarrassed about how much he'd been drinking. He decided to take the west entrance to his floor, walking the long way to his office. He didn't want to see Raphael or make small talk.
Micah rounded the corner near his office, stepped quickly to his door. But there he was, early for once. Bianco standing in the hallway outside of Micah's office, flirting with Angel. The copy room was nearby, and Angel was holding a stack of paper, rolling her eyes. Raphael had his hand on her elbow, trying to help her carry the stack. Bianco looked the same as always, bloodshot eyes, thinning hair, sly grin. For some reason, Micah hated Raphael at that moment. He wanted to blame him for everything.
"Look who decided to show up!" Raphael said. "I thought I could party, but you, Mikey, you are an animal-"
"You're talking too loud." Micah slung the dry-cleaned tux over his shoulder, tried to sidestep Raphael. "I've got a lot of work to do."
"Angel, you should see Mikey in action. He's a maniac! Tell her what you said to that summer associate, that chick who was smoking a cigar."
"I don't remember, Raph."
"You remember almost puking on the cab driver?" Raphael pretended to dry heave.
"Shut the hell up, Raphael. Everything's a big joke to you, isn't it?"
"Easy, dude. Jesus. I'm just fucking with you. What? I'm sorry."
Micah's eyes were burning, dry and red. He didn't want to hurt Raphael's feelings, but he felt so depressed he couldn't pretend. He brushed past him into his office.
"You want me to get you a cup of Joe at Starbuck's? We gotta sober up for round three. The anniversary party tonight." Raphael tried to follow him inside. "Dude, hold up. I got big news. I got a call this morning. Guess what?"
Micah turned in the doorway of his office. "Raph, I need to be alone for a while."
He shut the door, glimpsing a puzzled look on Raphael's ruddy Jupiter-sized face. Micah sat at his desk, logging onto his computer and going through emails.
When his office phone rang, he became agitated thinking it was Hannah Smythe. He had managed to avoid her since Wednesday night, but sooner or later he'd have to deal with her.
He looked at the caller I.D. screen. It was Gabe Weiss's extension.
He answered the phone, "This is Micah."
"It's Gabe. Can you come up? I need you to do something on the Mavros case."
31 Friday
* * *
Gabe Weiss was having that same nightmare when he woke up on the floor of his office bathroom. He lay on the floor, making sure he wasn't falling through, and decided to open the last bottle of scotch hidden away in his cabinet. It had been a gift from a New York County Supreme Court judge who later became Of Counsel at Sullivan & Adler. The retired judge greased the wheels for anything the Firm's litigation department filed, and this made life for the Gen Lit partners much easier. The Firm got the judge's insight on motions, on how the Commercial Part would rule, on filing papers late with a little help from the judge's old friends in the New York County Clerk's office, anything S & A needed. It was Gabe's idea to hire a retired judge, and the Firm paid the judge about four times what he'd made on the bench at 60 Centre Street. The old jurist thanked Gabe with the best bottle of liquor to age three decades in an oak barrel. But, just like everyone else outside the S & A inner circle, the man hadn't known that Gabe was on the wagon.
"Good old Judge Cantelli," Gabe said, thinking out loud. "Must be ten years since he died." It seemed like all the good ones either left or died young.
Gabe took off his Fordham tee and jeans that stunk of sweat and scotch. He took a long hot shower and shaved in his office bathroom. He slicked his hair back with a comb, looked over at the tux hanging from the door hook. He tore the plastic bag off the suit. When he buttoned up the shirt, he could feel the bruising around his neck, tender from being choked. He left the bow tie undone for now, to give his throat a break from another kind of garrote. The cummerbund was too tight, but Gabe liked its embrace. It kept him from slumping over.
"Where is it?" He opened the cabinet behind his desk, caressed the green bottle of Tullibardine, thirty-two year old Cadenheads scotch. He twisted the gold cap off, and amber liquid filled half a coffee mug on the edge of the desk. He held up the mug, smelled the malt, thought twice about drinking it at all.
"Here's to you, Judge. I wish I'd been a better friend."
The scotch warmed his tongue, its ginger velvet passing down his throat. He telephoned Micah Grayson and asked him to come up. Then he unlocked his office door and watched the video again on the computer screen. Disturbing pixels of gray and blurbs of sound. The more he watched it, the more he wanted to talk to Micah. Gabe took a slug from the coffee mug, fixating on the screen and the horrific images.
In the video, there was the blurry sketch of a large bedroom. Plain and normal in every way but one. The figure immobile, drugged and sluggish underneath a man. It was the man Gabe had been trying to befriend all this time. There he was, lying on top of the helpless woman. Gabe watched his back arc up and down, pathetic in his attempts to rape her. The camera recording it for posterity as the man convulsed in a fit and let out a satisfied sigh. Gabe watched the image of Nick Mavros finally rolling off the unconscious woman and casually pulling on a pair of pants. Just like he's getting up to go to work, Gabe thought, like nothing happened. A face quickly passed in front of the camera. The accidental cameo of the younger brother, Carlos.
The video ended. Gabe removed the thumb drive from his computer. His head was pulsating now, needing more scotch. He poured himself another finger and drank. He turned in his swivel chair, snatched the old trumpet off the wall. Music used to calm his nerves when he was young before he knew what liquor was. He fingered the keys, playing poorly.
There was a knock on the door, and he stopped playing.
"Come in."
Micah Grayson entered, leaving the door open. The kid was only twenty-six, but his eyes were deadened and weary. Every associate got that look sooner or later, Gabe thought. Their spirit would be broken after a few years, and the eager youth would transform into shadows.
"Micah. Come in and have a seat. You pull an all-nighter?"
"No. Feeling a little under the weather is all." The kid sat reluctantly as Cherise peeked her head in. "Excuse me," Cherise said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I didn't see you come in. Carlos Mavros has been calling. He's on the phone again. Says it's an emergency."
"Tell that son of a bitch I'm not here, I'm on vacation." Gabe had another thought. "No, even better, tell him I'm in a meeting with the NYPD."
Cherise glanced at Gabe's coffee mug and nodded slowly. He recognized the wry smile she gave him when she was perturbed. She shut the door.
"So. How's work?" Gabe sipped his mug, eyed Grayson who was looking down at the floor. "It's shitty, huh? I mean, the work associates do."
"I don't know."
"Look, Micah, I'm thinking about retiring. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. The work you do is shitty, I know it is. I give it out."
"It's all right, I guess." Micah looked up, eyes wider.
"I want to be straight with you." Gabe picked up his trumpet, held it up for the kid to see. "Used to play this thing all the time. Helped me clear my head." He could see the wariness in the kid's jaded eyes. "You play any instruments?"
He caught Micah's eyes on the bottle of scotch on the desk. "I wanted to learn piano."
"You have an
y other hobbies?"
"Not since I started working here. Except maybe running in Central Park. I used to run cross-country. It's hard to get out of the office."
"I know." Gabe thought about the park, looked out his window to see the treetops of it. "Central Park in the summer. I used to take walks around the Jackie O reservoir with my wife. She loves that statue of Alice in Wonderland with the giant mushroom and the Mad Hatter." Gabe thumbed at the floor-to-ceiling glass. "That's about as close as I get now."
A long silence ended when Micah looked at Gabe's tux and asked, "Is there a partner function before the party tonight?"
Gabe looked down at his tuxedo shirt, the black tassels of the loose bow tie. He'd almost forgotten about the monkey suit. He set down the trumpet, realizing how ridiculous he must have looked. Like some has-been lounge performer getting drunk before his maladroit set at an empty dive bar.
"No, there's no special thing for the partners today. I'm just celebrating Sullivan & Adler's anniversary a little early. Want a glass? Start your weekend early?"
"No thank you. I've been socializing a little too much lately, and I don't feel right today." Micah rubbed his temples. "I'm trying to clean myself up."
"Me, too." Gabe sipped more scotch, smacked his lips dry. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to apologize about our pro bono case. That was my mistake."
He watched Micah's eyes narrow. The kid actually looked a little resentful.
"I'm not sure what you mean?"
Gabe said, "The video, on that portable drive you found a few months ago. Remember?"
The kid nodded.
"I finally watched it last night. I have it here." Gabe pointed at his desk. "It's a fucking disgrace. If I'd known . . . God, I wish I'd known."
"Me, too." That response sounded more like "no shit" to Gabe, and he chuckled at a moment when there was nothing funny about their conversation. The kid looked around the room, eyeing the door, making it obvious that he wanted to leave.
"Here." Gabe pushed the thumb drive across his desk. "I want you to send it to a friend of mine at The Times." He scribbled out the contact info on a Post-It note and handed it to Micah.
The young associate's eyes widened, and he squirmed in his seat. "What about attorney-client privilege?"
"That isn't privileged. It's a recording, not a client confidence, and there's no communication seeking advice. Even if it was, there's a crime exception to the rule."
"That's exactly what I told. . ." The kid quickly cut himself off. "I should have turned this over… or given it to the-"
"Don't beat yourself up. This isn't your fault. I should have done something a long time ago." Gabe began tying his bow tie. "You knew they were in that video, didn't you? That's why you kept your mouth shut."
Micah's chin sunk in assent.
"Nick Mavros doesn't care about that video anymore. I can promise you that." Gabe thought about where Nick was now. "We have to do the right thing now, that's what matters. We have to tell the truth."
"The truth? Like you told me the truth when I first interviewed? When you said billable hours didn't matter, when you said pro bono work was important?"
"When we met," Gabe said, "I saw myself in you."
"So you wanted to mold me, like some corrupt son you never had."
"Funny you say that. I did have a son." Gabe took a long drink of scotch. "He drowned in the pool in my own back yard."
"Oh my God. I'm sorry."
"Me, too. It was his birthday party, and I was in the office when he died. I was probably right here in this chair. Funny, I can't even remember what I was doing, but I thought it was more important than being with him. I filled up our swimming pool with concrete and never used it again."
Micah moved to get up. "I'm sorry."
"No, stay. You were right about me. I was a failure to my own family, and I tried to make this place my family." Gabe leaned his elbows on his desk, moved closer. "Can I ask you something? Why did you come here? Why did you want to be a lawyer at this place?"
"Why? I don't know. To get away from home, to make something of myself." His eyes lifting up to the ceiling. "You don't think I'm cut out for Sullivan & Adler?"
"No. No I don't." Gabe smiled. "I think you're too good for this place. If I were you, Micah, if I could start over, I wouldn't waste my time here. Not another second. I'd be a Moral Crusader. I'd believe in something. Not for the money, but because it feels right in your gut. You understand what I'm saying to you?"
Gabe held out his hand.
The kid took it, shaking hard. "Yeah, I do."
"And one more thing. When they find out you're the one who found this video, they might try to blame you. They'll make up a reason to fire you or worse."
"What should I do?"
"I'm taking responsibility for everything. You tell them it was my call to release it, understand? Keep copies of files. Do what you gotta do to protect yourself. Okay?"
"Okay, I think." The kid stood on wobbly legs.
"I'll see you later at the party." Gabe shook Micah's hand and let him out of the office.
Gabe sat back down in his chair, poured another finger of scotch. He looked out the window toward the park, thinking that he hadn't been out in the sun for as long as he could remember.
32 Friday
* * *
Micah sat, brooding at his desk, thinking about Gabe's advice. Before he'd spoken with Gabe, he was thinking about leaving work early to get drinks with Raphael and Elliott before the Firm's anniversary party. Now the video loomed over his head, and Gabe's advice and demeanor had troubled him. He didn't want to go anywhere or make any rash decisions. He still found it hard to believe that Gabe had ordered him to leak the video to the press.
The phone rang.
His secretary had told him that Hannah had been frantic while he was upstairs talking to Gabe. She was looking for him, and she had left him four messages already. Her extension was appearing on his phone's I.D. screen now, the ringing barely registering in his head.
"Hello."
"It's Hannah. Where exactly have you been?"
"Talking to Gabe Weiss."
"Oh. Didn't you get my messages? I told your secretary . . . nevermind. I can't believe you haven't call me back in two days. I'm really beside myself. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Hannah cleared her throat for dramatic effect, and Micah said nothing. "I'm going to forget what happened this week because I have this new case. And I know the Firm's party is tonight, but I need you. I need my star document reviewer for an emergency assignment."
"Star document reviewer?" He leaned back in his chair, annoyed by the compliment. "Is that supposed to get me excited about reviewing a bunch of files?"
"Look, despite your recent behavior, we need your help. We need you to be a team player. This is right up your alley, and it will probably take someone like you only a few hours. I just need it done by Monday. The client number is-"
He shook his head. "I'm not saving your ass this time, Hannah."
"What did you just say? You will not talk to me that way. I don't know what's gotten into you, but when I give you an assignment, you take it! No questions asked! You hear me?"
Micah tapped the receiver on his desk, brought it back to his mouth. "Actually, no, Hannah. I didn't get that. What were you saying? Was it that you wanted me to do your job so you could take credit for it again?"
"Do you know who you're talking to? Do you realize that, as of today, I'm a partner here? They haven't made an official announcement, but I am. Did you know that? How dare-"
"I didn't know that," Micah continued coolly, over her whiny tone, "but is it just a coincidence that you're trying to give me an assignment when the Firm's anniversary party is tonight? Huh? You're about as subtle as a fart in church, sweetheart."
"I am a partner at this Firm, and you're taking this assignment! I don't care if you have to stay up all night tonight and Saturday and on your precious little fucking Sunday."
>
"Hannah, I don't give a damn what you do, partner or not. Just leave me the hell alone and don't call me again." He hung up the phone on her shrill gasp.
He went back into his trance, thinking about what Gabe Weiss had said. He didn't notice how much time had passed, hadn't eaten lunch, didn't pay attention that his phone wasn't ringing anymore or that the alert his computer sounded with each e-mail had fallen silent. He sat at his desk for a long time, eyes traveling around the room from the thumb drive to a photo of Ashley to his window overlooking Times Square. He still hadn't decided yet. He sat immobile for so long that the motion-detector light in the ceiling turned off. He was in the dark for a while until he waved his arms at the sensor to turn the lights back on.
It was only when he saw the clouds falling over the city, the red sun slipping away behind them, that he decided to put on his tuxedo. In his black tie, he stared one last time at the thumb drive on his desk and shoved it into a manila envelope. He rang his secretary, who sounded irritated. Probably because she was the only one left on the floor on a Friday afternoon in August, he realized. Most of the other lawyers had left for the anniversary party, and the secretaries were sent home early to enjoy their weekend.
But Micah had forgotten to tell his secretary to go home.
When she came in his office with arms-crossed, she grudgingly said, "You look nice."
"Thanks. I'm sorry we're still here. I know you want to leave." He leaned over his desk, passed off the envelope with the thumb drive and a second letter to the New York County District Attorney's Office. "Before you go, I don't know how to print out those mailing labels. Can you do one for me and have this delivered by hand today, if they can do it?"
PLUMMET: A Novel Page 23
