J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 03 - No Time To Hide

by J. D. Trafford

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been kept apprised of the progress of this case. Isn’t that right?”

  “We have,” Brea nodded, nervous.

  “You are represented by Mr. Tad Garvin. He’s an attorney at Franklin and Uckley, is that right?”

  Brea hesitated, and then answered.

  “Yes.”

  “He represents your family and he has provided corporate documents and other information to the government, on behalf of your family, to the government. Right?”

  Brea shrugged. She looked at Tad Garvin for direction. He nodded, and so she answered. “Yes. That’s correct.”

  “And you sent Mr. Garvin down to Mexico, where Michael Collins has been living openly over the past few years, isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Brea said.

  “Are you denying that Mr. Garvin went down to meet with Michael Collins on your behalf shortly before this indictment was issued?”

  Michael was going to provide a complete story. He didn’t want a hung jury. He wanted a not-guilty verdict. He needed double jeopardy to apply, a complete bar toward the government prosecuting him again. And he didn’t care if Brea Krane was damaged in the process.

  He watched as Brea’s mood changed, now looking concerned. It wasn’t an act.

  Brenda Gadd had stood and objected, the objection was sustained.

  Judge Husk looked at Quentin.

  “She testified that she didn’t know,” Husk said.

  “Fine,” Quentin waved it off. “But if I were to say I have a security video of Tad Garvin at the Sunset Resort with Michael Collins just a few weeks prior to his arrest.” Quentin held up a silver DVD, as if to prove that the video existed. “You don’t dispute that, correct?”

  “Objection,” Brenda Gadd rose, again, with a little less confidence this time.

  “Overruled,” Judge Husk turned toward Brea Krane and nodded. “You can answer.”

  “If you have a video, I don’t dispute it, but I can’t verify it either.”

  “Right,” Quentin nodded, preparing himself to drop the bomb. “And at that meeting, Michael Collins explained to your attorney that he would not release the money in the trust account to you, correct?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. She wasn’t there.”

  Judge Husk’s eyes narrowed.

  “Sustained.” He bit his lower lip, and then looked at his law clerk. The judge was about to call for a recess, but Quentin didn’t let him. The older judge’s reflexes were a little too slow to cut him off.

  “Michael Collins is the trustee for a trust that your father created, correct? A lawful trust to which he was and still is the administrator.”

  Brea shook her head.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You were frustrated because, as the trustee of this account, Michael Collins would not release the money to you, correct?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brea looked, again, at Brenda Gadd, her eyes begged the prosecutor to stop the questioning.

  “And so, you sent a lawyer to reason with him, and Michael refused to deal with you, and in retaliation, your brother went down to the Sunset Resort and tried to burn it down?”

  Gadd was on her feet now, screaming an objection. Murmurs and whispers rolled over the courtroom.

  “And then you tried one last time to intimidate Mr. Collins and his friends —”

  Judge Husk pounded his gavel.

  “Okay, Mr. Robinson. That’s enough.” The courtroom was silent, waiting to see how Judge Husk would react.

  The judge remained cool. He closed his eyes, never raising his voice. The silence held the courtroom still. Then he broke the peace with a calm suggestion.

  “I think it’s time for our morning break.”

  Judge Husk opened his eyes and looked at the jurors.

  “Remember your oath and instructions. You are not to discuss this case or any aspect of this case at this time. This court stands in recess.”

  Judge Husk placed his hand on the bench, and pulled himself up. “All rise for the jury as they exit.”

  The jurors filed out of the courtroom. They all watched, and then once the jurors were gone, Judge Husk turned his attention back to the attorneys and sighed.

  “Looks like we have something to talk about. Mr. Robinson is now going to explain to me why we don’t have a mistrial on our hands.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE

  Judge Husk sat behind his desk. He had taken off his robe and he somehow seemed even smaller than in the courtroom. He sat with his wrinkled hands folded on the desk. His tiny wrists were dominated by a pair of silver cufflinks.

  The law clerk led the attorneys into chambers.

  Gadd sat down in one of the open chairs. Quentin occupied the other empty chair while the judge’s law clerk remained standing.

  “Well,” Judge Husk looked at Brenda Gadd. “Looks like we’ve had a development.”

  His eyes twinkled with mischief. This was the part of his job that he loved, and it was the primary reason he would likely die before he retired.

  “Your Honor,” Gadd edged up in her seat. She glanced at Quentin with a flash of anger, and then back at Judge Husk. “I’ve been sandbagged.” She pointed at Quentin. “Sanctions and contempt would be too nice. Mr. Robinson has disrupted a major trial. He obviously knew his client was going to lose, and now he is trying to get a mistrial.”

  Quentin shook his head.

  “I don’t want a mistrial, Your Honor. I want the jury to hear my client’s side of the story. It is totally appropriate for the defense to offer alternative explanations for what has —”

  “Alternative explanations,” Gadd shook her head and rolled her eyes. “The cross-examination needs to be in good faith. It needs to be rooted in the truth. You can’t just lie. You need to —”

  Now it was Judge Husk’s turn to interrupt. He held up his hand.

  “I think we get your point.” He took a heavy breath, and then turned to Quentin. “Perhaps it would be best to explain.”

  Quentin lowered the tone of his voice. He wanted to match the judge’s calm demeanor, which was easy in this situation. He had all the leverage.

  “Your Honor, my client has told me all along that he was a trustee for a legal trust created by Joshua Krane prior to his death. It was a secret trust with a very specific confidentiality clause.”

  Judge Husk narrowed his eyes, focusing his attention on Quentin and trying to understand the implications.

  “Which means?” he prompted.

  “Which means,” Quentin continued, “that the money that Michael Collins consolidated, transferred and disbursed was not stolen. He was lawfully managing the money on behalf of a trust created by Joshua Krane prior to his death. The charitable contributions and the purchase of the resort were expenditures and investments within the sole discretion of the trustee. There was no wire fraud because Michael Collins was acting within his legal authority to —”

  Gadd stood.

  “This is ridiculous, Your Honor. We’ve been investigating for years. Michael Collins could have just told us this story and the investigation would have likely ended or this trust would be debunked, but instead, he takes it to trial.”

  Quentin raised his hand.

  “Your Honor, if I may address that issue?”

  Judge Husk nodded. “Please.”

  “Thank you.” Quentin smiled, sheepishly. “To tell the truth, Your Honor. I didn’t believe him. That’s why nothing was said. Michael Collins said he had proof, a copy of the trust agreement, but that it was destroyed in the fire at the resort where he had been living. A fire we believe was started by Brent Krane, the witness’s brother.”

  “There’s no proof of that. There’s no proof of any of this.” Brenda Gadd folded her arms across her chest and sat back down. She was flustered and irritated.

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure that the United States Attorney’s Office can check
the TSA’s database and see whether or not Brent Krane was in Mexico at the time of the fire.”

  “I can’t believe we’re listening to this.” Brenda Gadd threw her hands up in the air. “We are in the midst of a jury trial, and now we’re getting last-minute conspiracy theories.”

  “It was a theory,” Quentin said. “Until early this morning.” Quentin opened his briefcase and took out a copy of the trust agreement that had been disclosed to him by the United States Attorney’s Office.

  “I had been harassing Ms. Gadd for many weeks, if not months, to supplement her disclosures, because Michael Collins had insisted. I was annoyed with my client, and I’m sure Ms. Gadd was annoyed with me. Nothing further was provided, until this morning. Finally, she sent over another batch of documents from Franklin and Uckley related to Joshua Krane’s business dealings. In those documents, the trust agreement was disclosed.”

  “Let me see that.” Gadd snatched the pieces of paper from Quentin Robinson’s hand. She started reading.

  Quentin sat back and let her read. There was nothing she could do.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO

  Armstrong stuck his head into Agent Vatch’s office.

  “Hey Frank,” He knocked on the door as he walked inside. “Is your phone on? Brenda Gadd is trying to reach you.”

  Agent Vatch turned.

  “My phone is on.” He picked it up off of his desk and showed the lit screen. “I’m just not answering at the moment.”

  “Well, things are falling apart.” Armstrong was confused by Vatch’s reaction, but he continued, hoping further explanation might get Agent Vatch to move. “We need to check out Brent Krane. And she wants to know whether you remember some document that was disclosed to Collins’ attorney. She said it was a trust agreement or something. It was in the stuff that you reviewed last night.”

  Vatch shook his head. He was tired. He had spent the night disposing of any physical evidence linking Anthony to the shooting. He still hadn’t gotten the whole story, but somehow Anthony got sucked into one of Spider’s feuds. It wasn’t an honorable crime. Vatch had hoped that Anthony felt threatened in some way. He had hoped that it could be loosely rationalized as a form of self-defense, but that wasn’t true. It was murder. That was all.

  “Frank, seriously.” Armstrong came into Agent Vatch’s office and closed the door. “Gadd is flipping out. She needs you on this.”

  “Sorry, kiddo.” Vatch took a breath. All the venom that had driven him for years was now gone. He had helped a murderer escape. “You do it.”

  “What do you mean? This is your case.” Armstrong didn’t want to get into a ship that was sinking.

  Vatch turned back to his computer and clicked the print button. The printer underneath his desk hummed, and then spat out a letter that he had written that morning. Vatch took it off the tray, and then handed it to Agent Armstrong.

  “This is a copy.” Vatch’s face knotted up. “Submitted the real one to HR this morning along with the forms.”

  Armstrong scanned the first few sentences.

  “Early retirement?”

  “I’m done.”

  “When?”

  Vatch took a breath. “Effective immediately.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE

  The people in the hallway started to file back into the courtroom. Brea Krane had already gone inside and retaken her place on the witness stand. Tad Garvin remained on the wooden bench, thinking about what Brenda Gadd had just told him and trying to understand how a box of documents had been sent from his office without his knowledge.

  Of course, he admitted to nothing. He had a reputation to protect. Admitting that he was sleeping with a client was not an option, admitting that he had, in fact, visited Michael Collins in Mexico shortly before the indictment was not an option, admitting that he set up a series of off-shore accounts for Brea Krane was not an option, and further admitting a security breach at the mighty Franklin and Uckley was also not good for anybody.

  He had remained as calm as he could while being verbally attacked by Brenda Gadd. Even though he felt the walls closing in on him, Tad Garvin had merely promised Brenda Gadd that he would look into the situation and that was what he was going to do.

  Garvin stood. He didn’t need to hear the rest of Brea Krane’s testimony. He had seen the copy of the trust agreement. It was a disaster.

  Garvin began walking toward the elevators when he heard a familiar voice.

  “How much did you know?”

  Garvin turned around and looked at Brent Krane.

  “Look, Brent, this really isn’t the time or place to have this discussion. Why don’t we —”

  Brent cut him off.

  “I’ve got something that you need to see.”

  Garvin shook his head.

  “I need to go back to the office and figure this out, Brent. I don’t have time.”

  “Work with me,” Brent said. “And I can help you out of this.” Brent walked closer to Garvin, and Garvin could see that Brent didn’t look right. Brent hadn’t showered in weeks. His hair was disheveled. He smelled. “I need to talk to you right now.”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Garvin turned away, but Brent grabbed his arm.

  “I know everything,” Brent said. “And what I know can get you disbarred from the practice of law. What I know can probably get you tossed in jail for witness tampering and obstruction of justice and a bunch of other stuff. So don’t mess with me. We need to be a team.”

  Garvin’s eyes widened. He understood the threat.

  “What?” Brent Krane twitched, staring at Garvin. “Didn’t think I knew big words? Did my sister tell you I was crazy? Well, I’ve done some research. I know enough about what you and my sister are doing to know that it’s illegal.” Brent looked at the door to the courtroom. “Maybe I should just go in there right now and put a stop to this whole game.”

  Brent let go of Garvin’s arm, and walked past. He was a few feet from the door, when Garvin caved.

  “Okay, Brent,” he said. “You win. Let’s not do anything rash. I’m sure there’s a way to accommodate you. To be a team.”

  “I’m sure there are ways.” Brent’s eyes narrowed and the crowd inside his head went wild. They wanted Garvin dead, too.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY FOUR

  The testimony of Brea Krane continued. Quentin Robinson was now firmly in control. Judge Husk had chastised Brenda Gadd for constantly interrupting with objections, and now Quentin had a clear path.

  Michael watched Quentin Robinson introduce the trust agreement into evidence, and then listened as he walked through each term of the trust agreement. Quentin had Brea Krane read aloud for the jury the agreement’s confidentiality clause. He highlighted the specific prohibition to disclosing the trust agreement to any government agency absent a court order.

  Quentin pointed out the dates of Michael Collins and Joshua Krane’s signatures. Then he carefully parsed the paragraphs related to Michael Collins authority as trustee.

  “Do you see paragraph five of the trust agreement?” Quentin held his copy in the air and pointed to the text halfway down the second page. He waited for Brea Krane to nod her head.

  “Now could you read this first part? Slowly.”

  Brea stared hard at Quentin, but she had no choice.

  “The trustee, in the trustee’s sole discretion and judgment, may invest any assets of the trust, in whole or in part, in any stocks, bonds, mutual funds, real estate, real property, or any other venture the trustee deems appropriate.” Brea Krane put her copy of the exhibit down.

  “Now, Ms. Krane, we’ve heard a lot about the purchase of the Sunset Resort and Hostel by Mr. Collins through corporations that he established to maintain the confidentiality of the trust and himself. You’d agree that the Sunset Resort and Hostel is a business and also a piece of real property, true?”

  Gadd stood half-heartedly.

  “Objection, calls for a legal conclusion.”

  Quentin turned to th
e judge.

  “The witness is a Harvard MBA, Your Honor, and she can answer based on her own understanding. I’m not asking for a legal opinion.”

  Judge Husk nodded.

  “Overruled. The witness shall answer, and Ms. Gadd, I’m sure that there will be a series of these questions. I’ll interpret this objection as a standing objection to this whole line of inquiry.” Judge Husk took a deep breath, clearly annoyed. “So please stop interrupting.”

  “Very well,” Brenda Gadd forced a tense smile. She nodded and sat down.

  Quentin turned back to Brea Krane.

  “Now, if you could answer the question. Is the purchase of the resort a real estate investment?”

  Brea Krane hesitated, and then nodded.

  “Arguably.”

  It was an answer that evaded the question, but Quentin got what he needed and moved on.

  “Now looking at paragraph five, sub-part B. Can you read that?”

  “I can read it,” she responded, but then didn’t actually read the paragraph. Brea was trying to being smart by only answering the question, but the jury was not amused.

  “Of course.” Quentin shook his head. “I know you are literate and can read. Now, I’m asking you to actually read this sub-part aloud for the jury.”

  “The trustee, in the trustee’s sole discretion and judgment, may make charitable contributions to any non-profit organization recognized as a 501(c)(3) corporation in good standing by the United States Internal Revenue Service and located within New York, New York. Charitable contributions cannot exceed 3% of total trust assets as of the formation date of said trust.” Brea Krane sighed, and put the exhibit down. She knew what was coming and Quentin delivered.

  “Now, in this trial, we have also heard about a contribution to a Catholic church. It is a parish that is located here in New York City. Based on your own life experiences and knowledge, you must agree that the Catholic Church is a non-profit organization, true?”

  This time there was no objection, and so Brea Krane answered.