Dead Even

by Brad Meltzer

  “I know, but that still doesn’t make it okay.”

  “Nothing’s going to make this one okay. Let’s just call it a night.”

  Conrad stood from his seat and headed for the door. “If you want, I drove in today—so if you need a ride home…”

  “Thanks,” Sara said. Pausing a moment, she added, “Actually, maybe I should just take a cab.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice trailing off.

  As he was about to leave the office, Conrad turned around. “Sara, I really am sorry. And I know this may seem like a lame excuse, but for that one moment, it truly did seem like the right thing to do.”

  “I know,” Sara said, replaying the scene in her head. Being angry with Jared made it so easy. “That’s what scares me.”

  Standing in the bathroom, Jared leaned toward the mirror above the sink and carefully removed the gauze pad from his chin. He winced when he saw the oval gash that Kozlow had left him. Although the bleeding had long since stopped, the cut was still extremely tender. Trying hard not to stare at it, Jared reached under the sink and took out some cotton balls and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. This one’s going to hurt, he thought as he wet the cotton with the colorless antiseptic. Holding his breath, he lightly dabbed his chin. In the mirror, he could see the yellow-white pus that was just beginning to form around the edges. And while that signaled the first step of the healing process, Jared knew the pain was just beginning.

  It took Sara another half hour to realize she wasn’t going to get any more work done. Conrad’s kiss had shined the spotlight on something she’d never wanted to see, and regardless of how much she tried to focus her mind elsewhere, she couldn’t stop thinking about every detail of the incident. As she hailed a cab, she kept asking herself the same question. How? How could she do it? She wanted to blame it on an external source: Anger. Loneliness. Frustration. But as her cab headed back uptown, past Carmine’s, and Ollie’s, and John’s Pizzeria, and every other restaurant that reminded her of her husband, Sara finally faced the hard truth about her late-night encounter: While it was happening, she’d enjoyed it. And the only person she could blame was herself.

  By the time she returned to her apartment, there was only one person Sara wanted to see—and when she entered her bedroom, she was surprised to find him on her bed. Fully dressed and lying on top on the covers, Jared was sound asleep. Sara kicked off her shoes just loud enough to wake him.

  “Sorry,” Jared said, rubbing his eye “I called, but you weren’t here. If it’s okay, I was hoping I could sleep here tonight.”

  Sara stared at her husband. On any other night, this would’ve been a fight. Tonight, though, she could only say, “Of course. Whatever you want.”

  When he woke up the next morning, Jared considered not going in to the office. He knew he had an imposing amount of work to do if he expected to be ready for trial, but he couldn’t help but think that a relaxing mental-health day might be the best way to recharge his batteries. When he turned over and saw that Sara had already left for work, however, he kicked off the covers and jumped out of bed. Regardless of how tired he was, regardless of how exhausted, he couldn’t let her win.

  An hour later, Jared arrived at the office, briefcase in hand. As he rode the elevator to the forty-fourth floor, he thought about running on the treadmill in the gym. That was always the best method for clearing his head. But, once again, fear outweighed personal time, and anxiety outweighed relaxation. By the time Jared opened the door to his office, his mind was racing with trial strategies.

  “You’re late,” a voice said as Jared stepped inside.

  Jared jumped. It was Rafferty.

  “For a man who’s behind on points, you’re getting an awfully late start on the day,” Rafferty said, leaning back in Jared’s leather chair.

  “It’s not even eight yet.”

  “Big deal. Sara got in by a quarter after seven.”

  Jared dropped his briefcase on his desk. “Is there anything else you want, or are you just here to threaten me after yesterday’s debacle?”

  “I don’t need to threaten you anymore, Jared. You understand the consequences.” Rafferty then put his hand on a sealed envelope and slid it across Jared’s desk. “I’m just here to show you what else is happening while you’re so busy drowning.”

  Jared opened the envelope, pulled out a small stack of photographs, and flipped through them. The first few photos were of Sara and Conrad talking, while the last few were of his wife and Conrad kissing. His face went white.

  “And you’ve been wondering why she’s spending so much time at the office,” Rafferty said.

  “Who took these?” Jared asked, his eyes still glued to the photos. “When were they taken?”

  “Last night. An associate in their office took them for us. He does great work, don’t you think?”

  Jared rushed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Rafferty asked.

  Jared didn’t respond as he stormed out.

  Jared barged through the metal detector on Sara’s floor, ignored the sign-in sheet, and walked right past the security guard. “Hey, get back here!” the guard called. “Visitors have to sign in!”

  As Jared marched down the hallway, he announced in a loud voice, “I’m looking for Sara Tate. Where is she?” A secretary pointed down the hall.

  By the time Jared caught sight of Guff at his desk outside Sara’s office, the security guard had caught up with Jared and seized him by the arm. “Do you know this guy?” the guard asked Guff.

  “Yeah,” Guff said nervously. “He’s okay.”

  “Next time, sign in,” the guard told Jared.

  “Thanks,” Jared said, pulling free of the guard’s grip.

  “I guess you want to see Sara?” Guff asked.

  Without answering, Jared barreled past Guff and threw Sara’s door wide open. As it crashed into the wall, Sara looked up from her desk, startled. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked, covering the papers on her desk. “I’m working here.”

  “I need to speak to you for a moment,” Jared demanded.

  Recognizing the gravity of her husband’s tone, Sara shoved the papers back into their file folder. “Guff, can you leave us alone for a second?”

  “Sure thing,” Guff said, exiting the office and shutting the door.

  Sara and Jared stared at each other. “Are you having an affair?” he asked in a low voice.

  Sara’s mouth dropped open and she looked away.

  “Sara, please look at me,” Jared said, his voice cracking. “We’ve always been honest with each other. Now answer my question: Last night, did you kiss Conrad?”

  “Who said we kissed?”

  “Who said we…? I can’t believe you!” Jared yelled. “You’re lying! You’re fucking lying to me!”

  “Do you have someone spying on this office?” Sara asked accusingly. She looked out her window to see who could see in. Across the air shaft was a row of dusty windows to other ADAs’ offices.

  “Don’t you dare change the subject,” Jared said. “You betrayed me, and now you want to turn it around? You’re the one who cheated on me!”

  “First of all, lower your voice. Second, I didn’t cheat on you. It wasn’t like that. Conrad tried to kiss me, but I pulled away.”

  “So your lips never touched?”

  “No,” Sara shot back. “They didn’t.”

  Pausing, Jared fought to contain himself. He felt a sharp pain at the base of his neck. Finally, he exploded. “Sara, I saw the damn pictures with my own eyes! I saw them! You were kissing him on this couch! This couch right here!”

  “I don’t know what pictures you saw, but I pulled away immediately! Nothing happened.”

  “First you say your lips never touched, then you say you pulled away. How the hell do you expect me to believe you?”

  “Jared, I just do.”

  “Well, you can take that load of bullshit and sell it somewhere
else. You’re in no position to ask for trust.”

  “And you are?” Sara asked.

  “I didn’t cheat on my wife.”

  “No, you just rifled her briefcase last night.”

  “What?” Jared asked, forcing a laugh.

  “I heard you, Jared. I heard every move you made last night. And when I turned over, I saw you. You must think I’m an idiot, though—after what happened last time, do you really think I’d bring important files home with me? I was testing you. You failed. So stop lying to my face.”

  His lips pursed in anger and his arms crossed, Jared just stood there. Eventually, he said, “Fine, I admit it. You caught me. But don’t think this comes close to what you did with Conrad. This isn’t some damn file, it’s our marriage!”

  “It’s our trust! And when you went through my briefcase—”

  “Your briefcase? You’re equating this with your briefcase? Did you hear what I said? This is our marriage, Sara! Our marriage!”

  “I know what’s at stake, Jared! I’m not blind!” Sara shouted, getting up from her seat. “But I’m telling you, nothing happened! It was just a kiss—”

  “Just a kiss?”

  “And I pulled away! Now stop rubbing my nose in it!” Sara yelled, pointing a finger at her husband.

  He grabbed her firmly by the wrist. “Get your hand out of my face.”

  “Don’t touch me!” she shouted as she wrestled out of his grip. “I can have you disbarred! You’re a thief!”

  “Well, at least I’m not a whore!”

  With a quick swing, Sara slapped Jared across the face.

  Holding his cheek, Jared stared at his wife and saw something he had never seen. “You never should’ve done it, Sara. You ruined it.”

  “Jared, I swear to you. We never—” Before she could finish, Jared headed for the door. “Please…just listen.” She reached for him and grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s too late for that. Now let go.” He tried to pull away, but Sara held fast. “I said, let go!” he shouted. “It’s over!” With a sharp tug, he freed his arm, and the resulting momentum sent Sara smashing into a file cabinet.

  Suddenly, the door to the office flew open. “What the hell are you doing?” Conrad asked Jared.

  Without a word, Jared pulled back and took a swing at Conrad. Easily dodging the punch, Conrad grabbed Jared’s arm and, in one motion, twisted it behind his back and slammed him facedown on Sara’s desk.

  “Get the hell off me,” Jared said as people began to collect outside the office.

  “Conrad, let him go,” Sara said.

  Releasing Jared, Conrad said, “Don’t ever try to hit me again. Next time I’ll break your arm.”

  “Next time I’ll connect,” Jared warned.

  “We’ll see.”

  Jared took one last look at his wife, then pushed through the small group of onlookers and made his way to the elevators.

  “What was that about?” Conrad asked Sara.

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” she mumbled.

  “I didn’t ask how you were doing. I asked—”

  “It’ll be okay,” she added, turning away from Conrad. “I’ll get through it.”

  When he got out of Sara’s office building, Jared headed straight for the Franklin Street subway. As he ran down the stairs, he could hear the rumble of a train pulling into the station. He cleared the turnstile just as the light chime sounded that preceded the closing of the doors. He made a mad dash for the train. “Hold it!” he screamed to one of the train’s conductors, who was leaning out a window. But the doors shut in his face.

  “C’mon,” he said, hitting the doors. “Open up!”

  The doors stayed shut.

  “Please!” he yelled. He wedged his fingers into the protective rubber between the doors and attempted to pull them open. They stayed shut.

  “No!” he protested, once again banging the doors with his fists. As the train slowly pulled away from the platform, Jared ran with it, hoping to somehow still climb aboard. “C’mon!” he screamed. “Don’t fuckin’ leave!” But the train plowed forward and picked up speed, even as the tears rolled down Jared’s cheeks. It was no use. He couldn’t stop it. In a flash, the train was gone, and Jared stood on the platform. Alone.

  A half hour after Jared left, Sara called her husband’s office. “Is he back yet?” Sara asked Kathleen.

  “Not yet,” Kathleen said. “I’ll leave him a message you called.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sara called again.

  “Sorry,” Kathleen said. “Still not back.”

  Hanging up, Sara called home. Then she called Pop’s apartment. Nothing but answering machines.

  Ten minutes passed before she tried his office again.

  When Kathleen answered, she said, “Sara, I promise, the moment he comes in here, I’ll have him call you.”

  A half hour later, Sara’s phone rang. “Jared?” she answered.

  “It’s me,” Kathleen said. “He just walked in.”

  “Please put him on.”

  “I already asked him, but he doesn’t want to take your call. I just figured you’d want to know that he’s back here safe and sound.”

  “No, I do,” Sara said. “Thanks, Kathleen.”

  “Jared?” Sara called out when she got home that evening. “Are you here?”

  When she didn’t get an answer, she walked to Jared’s closet in the bedroom and opened it up. It was cleaned out. All of his suits were gone. So were his shirts. All that remained were some bad ties and empty hangers. “No. No, no, no.” She ran to his dresser and yanked the top drawer open. Empty, it came flying from the dresser, catching Sara by surprise. Throwing it aside, she pulled open the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Socks, underwear, and undershirts were all missing. “You can’t leave!” she yelled, slamming the last drawer shut. “Not now.” She had never expected it to happen like this. Everything had been going her way. She had the research, and the evidence, and the motions, and even the judge. It was all supposed to work out. It was all supposed to be okay. But as Sara hid her head in her hands, she knew that when all was said and done, it wasn’t going to be much of a victory.

  Jared dragged his stuffed-to-capacity hanging bag through the stark white halls of New York Hospital. He took the elevator to the tenth floor and made his way to room 206. Leaving his luggage outside the room, he knocked on the door.

  “Well, well, well, look who’s finally decided to pay a visit,” Pop said as Jared walked inside. “What brings you here? I mean, besides guilt.”

  “Can’t I just say hello? Phone calls are fine, but there’s nothing like a personal visit.”

  “Jared, that moonshine might work with those gullible, group-thinking juries, but I’m not buying a drop of it. The only reason you’re here is either, one, Sara made you come; or two, you’re in trouble.”

  “Don’t say that, Pop. With my parents and grandmothers in Chicago, you’re the only family I have in New York.”

  “Okay, so you’re in trouble. How much money do you need?”

  “I don’t need any money,” Jared said, pulling a chair up to Pop’s bed. “Now why don’t you tell me how you’re doing. When are they letting you out of here?”

  “When I’m better. Or if you want to believe my doctor, when they can get me walking again, which could be anywhere from two weeks to a month. There—now you’ve paid your moral debt. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

  “It’s nothing,” Jared said, forcing confidence into his voice. “Sara and I are just struggling with this case we’re both working on.”

  “The Kozlow case.”

  “Yeah, how’d you—”

  “What, you think I’m not listening when my granddaughter speaks to me? My ears may be longer and hairier than yours, but they work just as well. And I knew from the moment this case started it would be a mess. You and Sara are competitive enough—you don’t need a trial to put you at each other’s th
roats.”

  “It’s not the trial so much as what’s going on around it.”

  “What else is going on? Is she sick? Pregnant? Are you finally going to wise up and have a kid?”

  “No, Pop, she’s not pregnant,” Jared said, fidgeting with the nurse’s calling device on Pop’s nightstand. “She’s just been pushing all the right buttons lately—for a while now, everything’s been going her way.”

  Pop stared at Jared and smiled. Finally, he said, “You don’t like the fact that she’s beating you at your own game.”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s about more than just winning—”

  “Jared, you know that saying about bullshitting the bullshit artist?” Pop interrupted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, let me put it to you this way: I’m Picasso. And if you think I believe you when you tell me it’s not about winning, you’re dabbling in finger paints. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been obsessed with success. You’ve been the golden boy, and Sara’s been the one who’s struggled. But now that the shoe’s on the other foot, you’re realizing that it’s a bitch to wear high heels.”

  “This has nothing to do with ego. It’s bigger than that.”

  “Son, you have to listen to what you’re saying. If everything you’ve told me is true, it sounds like Sara’s going to win this case—and the only person who isn’t facing that fact is you. You may be a great lawyer, but in this instance, Sara has you against the wall. So now you have a choice: You can keep doing what you’re doing and get your rear end handed to you, you can give up and admit defeat, which I know you’ll never do, or you can talk to her and work out a resolution that leaves you both happy. The decision is yours.”

  With his eyes glued to the emergency call device in his hands, Jared knew that Pop was right about one thing: If he didn’t take drastic action soon, he was going to lose the case. And if he lost the case…Jared looked up at Pop, unwilling to entertain the consequences.

  “Want to tell me about it?” Pop asked.

  “I do,” Jared said. “It’s just…I can’t.”