“Don’t go to any trouble. You’ve had a tough day. How about we order Chinese? Unless you’re dead set on cooking.”
“Chinese sounds perfect.”
* * *
They sat on the living room couch, eating moo shu pork on paper plates, while the stereo played softly. Catherine summarized the day’s narrative.
“Poor Beka. Poor Abraham and Leah,” Liam said. “How does anyone deal with a loss like that?”
“I have no idea. I suppose you carry the nightmare for the rest of your life. By the way, Gerald Jeffers and two of his young Storch and Bennett associates came by and threatened me today. They had security films of Ben sneaking around Rosenzweig’s house. They flung a court order at me and demanded that Ben sign it. Jeffers called him ‘deranged’ and they told me to send him on his way.”
“What did you say?”
“I just sat there doing nothing, intimidated like a busted teenager.”
“How did Jeffers know you represented Ben?”
“What?”
“How did he know? Have you filed anything? Have you sent any letters? How did he know to come to you, that you were Ben’s lawyer?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I visited him at the jail?”
“Jeffers wouldn’t have that information.”
“Then I have no idea.”
“Think about it, Cat.”
She sat on the couch, looking at the floor. Then she turned and faced Liam with a look of surprise. “Ben’s notes. They were missing after the break-in. He said there were notes about conversations he had with me.”
Liam smiled. “It could be.”
“Maybe Ben’s right. Maybe Rosenzweig is Piatek.”
“Whoa, hold on Cat. That’s a leap. But it raises interesting questions. Even if it ties Rosenzweig into the break-in, it doesn’t necessarily connect him with Piatek. There’s an alternative explanation. It could just be that he wanted to find out about the guy who assaulted him at the opera and what information he had.”
Catherine snorted. “Hah! You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
She poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Liam. “Do you think you can find out about Rosenzweig’s insurance companies? I’d like to know how some poor impoverished immigrant becomes a billionaire.”
Liam nodded. “Now you’re talking. I’ve been thinking the same thing. There are state insurance records I can access. I’ll poke around.”
They sat together until the wine was gone and Catherine’s eyelids were heavy. Liam slipped his coat on. “Double lock your doors, Cat. You can never be too careful.”
“Do you think they’d try something?”
Liam shrugged.
“What about Ben?” Catherine said. “If Rosenzweig is Piatek and if he ordered the break-in, then he knows that Ben is telling the whole story to me. He might even kill Ben.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think he’d want Ben to be found murdered. It’d be a media field day. Ben’s death or disappearance following his public accusation and in the midst of his meetings with you would create an unmistakable presumption that Rosenzweig was involved. I don’t think he’d take that chance. No, I think he has to continue to brush aside the accusations and treat Ben as a lunatic.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chicago, Illinois November 2004
Early the next morning, before Ben was scheduled to arrive, there was a knock on Catherine’s office door. The firm’s senior and founding partner, Walter Jenkins, nattily dressed in his three-piece wool suit and bow tie, walked into her office. His shoes were brightly polished, his nails were freshly manicured and his thick silver hair was fashionably styled.
“Do you have a few minutes, Catherine? I’d like to talk to you about a matter you’re working on.”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“Do you?”
Catherine shifted uneasily. “You’re going to say my hours were down last week. I’ve been spending time interviewing a pro bono case. I know it’s probably far too much time on a single case that hasn’t even been logged into the system. But don’t worry, I’ll make it up.”
Jenkins took a seat on Catherine’s couch and crossed his legs. He smoothed his trousers. “Gerry Jeffers came to see me last night. He said he paid you a visit yesterday.”
“That bastard. So he went over my head?”
“I’ve known Gerry for many years.”
“He waltzed in here unannounced with his two smug kids and put on a dog and pony show trying to scare me off a case. He told me not to risk my professional future. I was supremely offended.”
Jenkins nodded slightly. “Gerry tells me that you haven’t returned a signed Order of Protection that he prepared for you. All he wants is for Solomon to leave his client alone.”
“Mr. Solomon won’t agree to the Order. Besides, it goes farther than Jeffers told you. It prohibits him from talking about Rosenzweig in public or denouncing him or even accusing him.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a clear violation of Ben’s First Amendment rights, his freedom of speech, among other things, and violations of that Order of Protection are punishable by contempt.”
“He was videoed snooping around Mr. Rosenzweig’s house, peering in the windows.”
“He won’t do it again.”
“What’s this all about, Catherine? Why are you spending so much time with this fellow?”
Catherine spent the next fifteen minutes outlining Ben’s story.
At the end of her summary, Jenkins said, “What proof have you seen that any of this has any connection with Mr. Rosenzweig?”
“Well, none yet. Up to now, I’m just taking background notes. But Ben assures me that he is certain of the identification.”
“I don’t want it, Catherine. I can understand your emotional commitment to this saga but we run a business and this case is bad business. You could never take on Elliot Rosenzweig without solid proof. It’s insane. It’ll cost us in money, time and reputation. Unless we have the horses, we have no business in the race.”
“What about all the contradictions in Rosenzweig’s stories, like he immigrated in 1945 after being liberated from Auschwitz, when he really came in from Argentina two years later? And how does he come to America, a poor, penniless refugee and take up residence on Lake Shore Drive?”
Jenkins shook his head. “I don’t want it. The case would cost us six figures with no hope of recovery.”
“What if we could prove he took Ben’s property? Rosenzweig certainly has money to pay a judgment.”
“You said you haven’t seen any proof.”
“Not yet.”
“Catherine, what’s the basis for a lawsuit? The case is sixty years old and probably time-barred in any event.”
“The grounds would be misappropriation, conversion, replevin, return of the stolen goods or a judgment for the equivalent amount of money. In a conversion case, the time commences from demand and refusal. The matter may not be time-barred. Ben has thoroughly researched the cases, and even given me a Ninth Circuit print-out, recently decided, giving the heirs of Jewish refugees the right to sue an Austrian museum for the return of a valuable Gustav Klimt painting. It was affirmed by the Supreme Court. So there is precedent for this type of action.”
“Can Solomon pay the ongoing costs of this lawsuit? You’re looking at a big ticket.”
“Of course not. If we filed suit for him, we’d have to take it on contingency basis.”
Jenkins shook his head. “I’m not putting our firm’s money into this.”
“Hold on, Mr. Jenkins. I’ll work it in the evenings, in my spare time. Liam will do the investigation for free. I won’t file anything unless there’s solid evidence. I promise. I want to help him, Mr. Jenkins. I’m very serious about this. I believe in him. There’s something about this man, this case, that impels me to continue.”
Jenkins shook his head again. “I don’t
want a civil case filed by this office. It’s a black hole.”
“Well, even if we don’t file a civil suit, if I can develop enough evidence that Rosenzweig is a Nazi, I’ll send the matter over to the U.S. Attorney for prosecution. There’s no statute of limitations on Nazi war criminals.”
Jenkins lifted himself off the couch and straightened his vest and jacket. “Pass on it, Catherine. Let him go to some charitable, pro-bono outfit to wage this war. I don’t want this firm involved civilly or criminally. I don’t want you referring him to Justice, I don’t want you involved at all! It’s already causing trouble for me in the legal community.”
“Are you backing off because of pressure from Jeffers?”
Jenkins turned quickly. “Excuse me, Miss Lockhart?” he said sharply.
He walked over to Catherine’s desk, leaned forward on his fists and said, “Have you ever stopped to consider that this crazy old man is probably wrong? What if it’s a case of mistaken identity? What if Solomon is just plain wrong and Elliot Rosenzweig is exactly what everyone thinks he is – a pillar of society? Do you understand, you have no proof! You could assassinate the character of a good man! And furthermore, what if Solomon is truly delusional? What if he has fabricated this entire scenario? Have you considered that? How do you know that this lunatic hasn’t come in here and made up the whole damn thing? Do you have any proof that he is who he says he is?”
“I need look no further than every fiber in my body. You might as well tell me that Lake Michigan is imaginary. I know he’s genuine. And if I can gather proof that Rosenzweig is Piatek, I’m going to represent him. I’m either going to file a civil suit or I’m going to send it to the U.S. Attorney.”
“Not in this office, you’re not.”
“Are you going to fire me?”
“Catherine, you’re a damn good lawyer – that’s why I gave you a break and hired you two years ago – but I’m going to tell you right now, this firm will not represent Ben Solomon. I won’t let it past the committee.”
“I’ll take a leave of absence.”
“I won’t approve it. Besides, Catherine, face reality. You can’t run this case on your own. Jeffers will throw multiple lawyers at you, dozens of motions, simultaneous depositions. He’ll eat you up with discovery costs, travel costs, expert fees and court time. And for what, Catherine? To prove that Rosenzweig worked for the Nazis sixty years ago and maybe to get some old man a few dollars?”
“Mr. Jenkins, I’m ashamed of you. For what? For justice, that’s what! I’m not abandoning this case. I’ll work the file out of my house if I have to. Fire me, if you want to. For now, I’m on leave.”
Reeling from what she had done, she grabbed her coat, left the office and burst out the door. She called Ben from her cell phone to cancel the morning’s appointment and reschedule it for Thursday. Her next call was to Liam.
“What’s up, Cat?”
“Liam, I just did something totally irrational.”
“What happened?”
“Remember what we talked about last night? Jeffers and his threats?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I just walked away from Jenkins and Fairchild. Probably made the biggest mistake of my life. Jeffers put a full-court press on Jenkins who ordered me to pass on Ben’s case and give it to some pro-bono outfit. When I told him I wouldn’t back off, Jenkins gave me an ultimatum. I walked.”
“I’m proud of you, Cat.”
“This’ll crater my legal career.”
“Not a chance. There may be some firms that would consider you politically undesirable but those firms aren’t good enough for you anyway. Why don’t you hang out a shingle?”
“A neighborhood lawyer?”
“Why not?”
“That’s not me. I never had the nerve to fly solo. I need the support of a large firm.”
“What about a small partnership?”
“I’m not going to make any of those decisions today. Want to take an unemployed woman to lunch?”
“Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll swing by and get you in thirty minutes. By the way, I started looking into the formation of Rosenzweig’s Columbia Indemnity Corporation. I ordered some files and should have the results in a few days.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Thursday afternoon found Ben walking to an address on a quiet tree-lined street in the Lincoln Park neighborhood, an area ten minutes north of Chicago’s Loop. Greystones, brownstones and frame bungalows were neatly set back from the parkways and nestled in abundant foliage, underscoring Chicago’s motto: Urbs in Horto – City in a Garden.
He stepped onto the concrete stoop of a three-story greystone with a large iron-framed bay window and rang the doorbell. He was greeted by Catherine in her blue jeans and white bulky knit sweater.
“Nice looking home,” he said, taking off his jacket.
“Thank you, Ben. It was built in 1928 and actually belongs to my aunt. I’m a renter.”
“Tell me again why we’re not meeting at your office,” he said, following her into the kitchen.
“It’s an inner-office conflict. We’ll need to meet here for a while.”
She filled a red tea kettle and set it on the stove.
“Did I get you into trouble?”
“No, Ben. I make my own decisions.” She walked Ben through the dining room archway and into her front room. “I built a nice, warm fire for us.”
Ben sat in an overstuffed chair, at an angle to the fireplace, and waited for Catherine to settle on the couch and pick up her pen and paper.
“The last thing you told me was that you were going to Elzbieta’s.”
“They don’t want you to represent me, do they? There’s no economic upside for Jenkins and Fairchild, am I right? It’s a political embarrassment, right?”
“Stop, Ben.”
“Look, Catherine, I don’t want you to do this. I’ll figure something else out. Tell Jenkins that I’ll find another lawyer. I’ll call him, if you want me to.”
“Stop.”
“I don’t want to see your career suffer because of me. You’re a brilliant young woman. I couldn’t handle the guilt. Jewish guilt – more powerful than the atom bomb, as they say.”
“I appreciate your concern, Ben, and I know that you’re sincere, but I’ll handle my situation. It’s mine to deal with. Right now, I believe the correct path for me is to do what I think is right. I’ve made a decision. We’re finished talking about this. Now, tell me what happened when you went to Elzbieta’s?”
“All right.” Ben nodded and smiled at Catherine. “But, don’t ever try to tell me that you’ve never done anything significant or never felt impassioned. I have a world of respect for you.”
“Thanks. Now, the story, please.”
Zamość, Poland 1941
“After I talked to my father about taking the family and escaping to Yugoslavia, I headed to Elzbieta’s to get in touch with Otto. I told Elzie we needed his help. I didn’t want to say anything to her about the money, or get her in the middle of that dispute. She asked me to wait at her apartment while she tracked him down.
“It was just past midnight when she and Otto returned. He looked angry – no, put out was more like it. Irritated.
“‘I’m sorry about Beka,’ he said, and then quickly added, ‘but you can’t drive to the Tatras. That’s out of the question. And you certainly can’t drive there in my uniform.’
“‘Why not?’ I argued. ‘Should we stay here until we’re shot or die of typhus or starve to death? Or maybe we should be displaced again and sent to that shit-hole Izbica. I’d rather take my chances on the road.’
“‘Are you going to drag your mother through the mountains? What about Aunt Hilda? Are you going to take her, too? Look, Ben, there are new orders coming down. No one is to leave the ghetto unless they’re sent on a work detail. No more walking around town with work permits, not even here to Elzie’s. I can’t let you go.’
“‘You what?’
/>
“‘I’m telling you, you can’t go. You have to obey the law.’
“‘Are you going to turn me in, Otto? Are you going to shoot the only real mother and father you ever had? We’re going, Otto, whether you like it or not and we’re going tonight.’
“Otto placed his hat carefully on his head, tugged at the shiny bill and turned for the door. ‘Do what you want but don’t look to me for protection,’ he said, closing the door behind him.
“I chased him out into the hall. ‘Hold on,’ I yelled. ‘We need our money.’ He kept walking away like he didn’t hear me. I ran after him and halted him at the stairs. ‘We need our money, the 60,000 zlotys my father gave to you.’
“‘Can’t do it, Ben. It’s against the law for you to have it. If they change the law, then I’ll give it to you. But mind this warning: you and your family must obey the laws or face severe punishment.’
“Part of me couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and the other part of me knew it all along. I grabbed him by his black leather overcoat and swung him around but he caught me with a sharp right that sent me back into the wall and down onto the floor. Before I knew it, he was down the stairs and out of the building. I returned to Elzbieta’s.
“‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ she said. ‘I can try to talk to him tomorrow and see if I can get him to change his mind.’ I left Elzie’s a little after two in the morning.
“My father just shook his head in despair when I told him of the previous evening’s encounter with Otto. ‘Power corrupts,’ he mumbled and put on his hat to walk from his makeshift apartment to the Judenrat office. As we walked, I said, ‘I still have 500 Zlotys. Are we all set for tonight?’
“He shook his head. ‘Aunt Hilda is very sick, close to death, and Mother doesn’t feel right leaving her. I think we’ll need to put off our travel for a little while.’
“I felt trapped, caged in, like a wild animal at the zoo. Every muscle fiber tensed. ‘We need to leave now!’ I said, raising my voice to my father, an act which surprised us both. ‘There are more orders coming down. Things will only get worse!’
Once We Were Brothers Page 20
