“No, not necessary. Can you just make a list of the clients you’re working for and the matters that are currently open and leave it with Barbara? We’ll just say that you’re taking some personal time, which is actually quite accurate, yes? We can get other associates to cover for you.”
“Yes. Okay.”
“Okay. Thank you, Evie. By the way, please consider me a friend. If you want to talk, just give me a call. Why don’t we see how we’re doing in two weeks?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Yeah, thanks, friend.
Paul reached down and flipped a switch turning off the recording device. He smiled, stood and offered his hand to Evie. She shook his hand briefly, nodded and left.
Evie returned to her office absolutely numb and was thankful Helen was not there. She didn’t know what she would say. After powering up her laptop, she found the document she had created, detailing her workflow over the summer months and the clients she had served. She emailed it to Paul with a final bid to be believed.
The light on her telephone promised voice mails waiting so she picked up the receiver to retrieve them. The only one she cared about was from Joe. He said his plans had changed, that Ariel had called with a desperate plea for him to baby-sit for the evening. His message asked Evie to go to Connecticut with him, if she didn’t have any other plans. He didn’t want her to be alone in the apartment and offered to spend the night again on her sofa. She dialed his hotel room, but there was no answer.
She didn’t actually feel like organizing her files for re-assignment, but she forced herself, and began by cleaning out her briefcase. While she worked she dialed Joe’s cell phone number. He answered on the second ring.
“Joe, it’s Evie.”
“Eves, are you okay?”
“Yes, but round two with Paul was more frustrating than the first.”
“Did his investigation turn up anything?”
“I guess so, but everything he finds seems to bolster Alan’s credibility and put mine into question. He thinks I’m pursuing some sort of vendetta against Alan, perhaps because of the negative performance reviews or a failed romance between us.”
“He thinks you were involved with Alan?”
“Alan laid it on pretty thick, it seems. Pointed to the campaign functions we both attended, made it sound like his assault on me in Chicago was a mutual little fling. He even told them about a stupid thing I said to him out of anger and made it sound like I was trying to seduce him.”
“Here’s where it’s difficult for me to just sit by and—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I considered not telling you, but I need your advice. Alan told them Gerais Chevas was his client, but that I was assigned this deal and he knows nothing about it, that whole ‘acted alone’ bit. I wanted to tell them about that email you intercepted, but how could I explain how I got it?”
“So they’re really buying this crap. And, for the record, I’m glad you told me. Just because it’s hard to hear doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, Joe, I can’t believe this is happening.”
“They didn’t look into that expense report or the faulty time records?”
“Just like I predicted, Alan used his extensive electronic ‘paper trail’ to incriminate me and even had this guy, Adinaldo, verify that I’m the one who’s running the deal and making all those calls, negotiating the terms and interacting with the Gerais Chevas insiders. They seem to be willing to take Alan’s version of the records on their face, while looking at mine with suspicion.”
“Unbelievable. And they just wrote off his attack on you in Chicago as a mutual indiscretion?”
“Paul said the partnership was split on who to believe, but they were willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, probably because they can’t afford not to. He offered me one and a half million to forget the whole thing, but if I stay with the firm, I’d have to keep working with Alan.”
“Not a very satisfying outcome.”
“I don’t know if I really want them to fire him, I just want to be believed. And, I’m just not getting anywhere with the partnership. And, I’m now officially on a leave of absence.”
“So they can clean up this mess.”
“I don’t have high hopes.”
“You can’t be responsible for the final outcome of this deal if you’re on leave. And the role you were being forced to play will have to be played by someone else, voluntarily or involuntarily.”
“I was thinking about that, but my absence also prevents me from defending myself. Who knows what else Alan has planned or where else he’s planted my name?”
“I think you should hire your own lawyer. Let someone scare the hell out of them.”
“I think you’re right. I don’t have any other choice if they’re not going to believe me. Joe, I really need you right now.”
“I’m here for you. Want to go to Connecticut?”
Evie began flipping through the unopened mail in the briefcase pocket while she continued talking.
“I’m going to see if I can track down an old friend who does white collar defense,” she said. “I think I’d better stay in the city in case he’s available to meet, but may I see you later?”
“Sure. Until then, you know where I’ll be.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.”
They hung up as Evie’s eyes fell on a letter that was in an abnormally-sized envelope. It was an international envelope, slightly larger than the U.S. standard business envelope. It was postmarked a week ago from a New York post office, but there was no return address. She tore it open and took a breath.
28
Inside the envelope was an article in Portuguese from a Brazilian newspaper, Folha de Sao Paulo. In the margin of the newspaper clipping were scrawled the tiny words “In case we are not able to meet, E. Adelio.” This must be from the woman from Romez Nuevo, she thought. Ms. Adelio apparently knew there was someone trying to prevent their meeting. Who could translate this? Maybe Joe had someone.
For a brief moment, she thought about walking back to Paul’s office with this new piece of evidence, but without a translation, it was an unknown. There was no way to know whether it helped or hurt her claims. And, it offered up yet another person who thought she was running this deal. Not a conclusion she wanted to reinforce. She no longer cared as much about protecting the firm as she did about proving her own innocence and protecting herself. Evie put the article back in the envelope and returned it to her briefcase. She found the file she had been keeping on Gerais Chevas and added that to the same pocket.
She dialed her friend Huda to see if she was available to meet for lunch and they made a plan. A lunch with a trusted friend, who had no connection to the firm, was just what she needed.
She picked up the telephone again, hesitated for a few seconds, put down the receiver and grabbed her BlackBerry instead. She dialed and a secretary put her through.
“Michael Scott.”
“Michael, hi. Thanks for taking my call.”
“It’s been a while. Still single?”
“Yes, still holding up my end of the statistic.”
“Evie, are you okay? You sound a bit stressed.”
“I’m fine. Actually … I’m not fine. I want to hire you to represent me.”
“Represent you. Are you being investigated for some sort of crime?”
“You’ve done federal work, right?”
“Yes. Federal and state. White-collar crime, related civil litigation. Evie, what has happened? What’s this about?”
“I’m being framed by a partner in my firm.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Michael, I’m absolutely serious. Will you represent me?”
“Of course. Where are you?”
“In my office.”
“At your firm?” he asked in astonishment. “Well, that’s where I’d be if I were being framed by a partner.”
“Seriously, Michael. This is very complicated. It involves an international ac
quisition that’s being attributed to me even though I’ve had nothing to do with it. The partner who’s running it may be involved in something which is possibly illegal. And … there’s a U.S. Senator … Wait, I really should wait and explain this in person.”
“You are edgy. A senator? I just settled a case. I’ve got a bit of time tonight.”
“Where can we meet?” she asked.
“How about my office downtown … seven o’clock?”
“Can you make it any earlier?”
“Let’s see, well how about this. Call me back this afternoon and in the meantime, I’ll see if I can change my schedule around.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She hung up and looked around her office. I’ll finish organizing everything when I get back from lunch, if they’re lucky.
Once Evie had deposited herself at the sushi bar at Sushisay on East 51st Street to wait for Huda, she consciously dismissed the adrenaline that had supercharged the last hour. She felt herself relax as the first cup of sake did its work, but was abruptly distracted by a smell … what was that? It was a cheap man’s cologne that’d been applied liberally.
She looked around and saw a black-haired, olive-skinned man with a strong mustache two seats away at the bar. He was wearing a navy pinstripe suit and starched shirt open at the collar, his tie pulled out of formation as if announcing that he had given up on the day.
“Are you dining alone? he asked, once he caught her eye.
“No.” She thought her voice contained a measure of haughtiness, but she couldn’t help it. The sensory assault was formidable and she was wary of any strange man, after the threatening phone calls and mysterious strangers trailing her around the city.
“You like sushi?” He didn’t wait for an answer and gestured toward the cold fish fillets lying in the path of the sushi chef. “I only eat fish raw so I can see what I’m eating. I was once a regular at this five-star seafood restaurant that listed every type of fish imaginable on the menu. But I swear, no matter what type of fish you ordered, when presented at the table, it turned out to be the same piece of fish every time.” He smiled at her.
She gave him a half-smile to be polite and glanced around the room searching for Huda. Her eyes fell on another hairy man who seemed to be watching her. This one was seated at a table facing her direction. He had a plate of sashimi in front of him, but he was not eating. She kept her eyes moving around the room, but in the brief glance in his direction she had noted his navy blazer and striped tie that seemed incongruous with his unruly curly hair and several day’s growth of beard. She turned back toward the bar.
“Can I offer you another pitcher of sake?” asked the Mustache Man.
“Thank you, but I’m happy with this one.”
“Did you know that the bride and groom in Japanese weddings drink sake to symbolize the unity between them?”
He was leaning toward her and shifting his body to slide over on the stool closer to her when she said, “Excuse me, please,” and walked out to the sidewalk. She dialed Huda’ cell phone and Huda told her she was five minutes away. Evie walked back through the door, but approached the hostess and asked to be seated immediately. The young woman gave Evie a sympathetic nod, retrieved Evie’s pitcher of sake and led her to a table by the window.
After Evie had taken a seat and picked up the menu left by the hostess, the Bearded Man stood and approached her table. He smiled at her. Wonderful, she thought. Another one. She turned her attention to the menu, hoping he would take the hint.
“May I speak with you a moment?” he said in a baritone voice at low volume.
“I’m sorry. I don’t—”
“I’m Daniel Weber, Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He extended his hand to shake hers, but she just stared.
Her heart skipped a beat. She looked around on impulse and saw that no one was really paying attention to what was going on at her table. The Mustache Man had begun chatting up an overly-tanned blonde woman at the sushi bar. Evie looked back at the man standing over her, took a breath and said, “Could I see some ID?”
He had opened a leather wallet while she spoke and she looked down at it as she finished asking the question. She studied the photo ID that read “FBI” in large block letters and “SPECIAL AGENT” in smaller letters, but wondered about the futility of her examination; it would be highly unlikely for her to be able to recognize a fake one. The photograph looked authentic and it definitely resembled the man standing before her. There was a gold badge imprinted with the FBI’s insignia. She nodded to him and he sat down opposite her.
“Miss Sullivan,” he began. She wondered how he knew her name, but then considered that thought silly. Well, he must be who he says he is. Joe predicted this. I guess that telephone call with Joe WAS intercepted. Okay, here we go.
“We are in the process of looking into some activities of your law firm. Would you be willing to answer some questions for me?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss any internal firm business with you.” He knows I’m a practicing lawyer. Why would he think I’d let myself be questioned by federal law enforcement without MY attorney present?
“Well, it’s really one particular matter that I would like to talk to you about.”
“What would that be?”
“Do you represent a South American company called Romez Nuevo?”
“No.”
“Do you or does your firm have any South American clients?”
“We don’t discuss client relationships. Who we represent is confidential.”
“But you do discuss these client relationships over the telephone with a man named Joseph Barton, do you not?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You do know a Joseph Barton, an American executive with the French company Parapier?”
“Yes, but he’s not a client and he has nothing to do with the activities of my firm.”
“Yes, we are familiar with Joseph Barton. We’ve had a file on him for some time.”
The FBI has a file on Joe? Evie concentrated on holding an expression of polite detachment. Until she met with Michael and decided on a plan of action, she wouldn’t risk handing out any information to the FBI. If she was going to become the target of the investigation, the less she said the better.
“Miss Sullivan, we’ve been interested to notice your name more than once in recent reports generated by colleagues of mine. Is there something you’re involved in that you’d like to unburden yourself about?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t mind, I’m waiting for a friend—”
“Yes, and were you waiting for a friend yesterday about this time?”
“What?”
“A woman was murdered yesterday on the Avenue of the Americas not far from your office.” She WAS murdered! That was her!
“So. Why are you telling me this? What … do you think I had something to do with—”
“She had a note in her pocket with your name written on it.”
Evie’s mind raced. She tried to gauge how much trouble she could be in. How thoroughly the circumstances incriminated her. How much does this agent know? Should I confide in him? What if he doesn’t believe me? If I say the wrong thing, I could be handing them evidence against me. If I start spilling what I know and he DOES believe me, I could become an unwilling informant against the firm. And if he DOESN’T believe I’m not involved, a case assembled against me could become impossible to refute. Is this the point of no return? I need Michael’s advice.
“What did the note say?” she asked.
He ignored her question. “Do you have any idea why this woman would have your name written on a piece of paper she was carrying in her pocket when someone murdered her?”
Evie stared at him wondering how to avoid answering these questions without raising his suspicions. The fact was, she didn’t have the answers.
“Did you have a plan to meet with a Latin woman
yesterday?” he asked.
How do I answer that? I can’t lie to the FBI. “Yes, I did,” she said finally. “This woman, with what sounded like a Latin accent, called me at my office and asked me to meet her, but she never showed up. And I … I don’t even know her name.” Not a complete lie, she thought. I don’t know her name with certainty.
“What did she want to meet with you about?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you’re saying that you agreed to meet someone unknown to you, not knowing what she wanted to discuss or why she wanted to meet with you?”
Yes, that does sound unbelievable doesn’t it. “Yes, that’s … I did know that she wanted to talk to me about a matter that I was aware of. She said she had information for me. She hung up before I could ask her name or find out anything more.”
“What matter was that?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Did you know that she was an employee of Romez Nuevo?”
“Yes. She did tell me that much.”
“What else did she tell you that may have slipped your mind?” There was no mistaking his skepticism.
“Nothing. She was very brief. She said she didn’t want to go into it over the telephone and told me where to meet her.”
“Where was that?”
“I was supposed to meet her at Mangia on 57th Street.”
“At what time?”
“She said eleven thirty.”
“And you waited for her there?”
“Yes, but as I said, she never showed up.”
“Did she say anything about why she wanted to talk to you … anything that’s not confidential?”
Evie feigned the look of someone trying to remember elusive details and remained silent. How could she tell him that she thought the woman had information about a trap being set for her? She knew she didn’t want to explain her suspicions about Project Neon to this federal agent with all signs pointing to her as the dealmaker. There was still too much incriminating evidence around that she couldn’t refute.
“Miss Sullivan, I know you’re an intelligent woman. You should seriously consider cooperating with the FBI. You may find that if you cooperate, you are less likely to become a target of the investigation yourself.”
Wearing the Spider (A Suspense Novel) (Legal Thriller) (Thriller) Page 27
