An Equal Justice

by Chad Zunker

  With that, the meeting was over, as everyone just stared at each other in disbelief.

  Thomas came over to David. “Not exactly the first day I’d hoped for you.”

  “It’s shocking.”

  “For all of us.”

  “How did he do it?”

  Thomas sighed. “I heard he hung himself on Saturday night.”

  “But he was drunk as hell, Thomas.”

  “Was he? How do you know?”

  “I drove Nick home that night, helped him get into his house.”

  “Damn. Really? You may have been the last person to see him alive. Police said his girlfriend found him yesterday morning.”

  David thought about the guy he’d spotted outside Nick’s house.

  “Did Nick have a roommate?” he asked Thomas.

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Nothing. This is just . . . hard to believe. Did you see it coming?”

  Thomas shook his head. “Of course not. I mean, we’re all stressed the hell out. But I never suspected anyone would take it this far. I wish I’d known. Maybe I could’ve helped him out somehow, lightened his workload, or just talked some sense into him. I don’t know.”

  “Maybe it was more than just work.”

  “Maybe. But there was a note, and Nick blamed the stress of work.”

  “He left a note?”

  “Yeah, he typed it out on the firm’s letterhead.”

  David pondered the note. Could Nick have possibly pulled it together enough to type out a suicide note after David had dragged him to his front door? That seemed unlikely. Maybe he’d written it in advance and already planned to end things that night. Nick certainly hadn’t seemed to be in a good emotional place.

  “You going to be okay?” Thomas asked.

  “Yeah, sure. I mean, I barely knew the guy.”

  But all David could think about was what Nick had told him in the final moments of his life. You should leave. Now. Before it’s too late for you, too.

  FIVE

  Frank was situated in a dark hotel room near the airport. A bank of computers was set up on a table in the corner. He sat behind a keyboard and pulled up a surveillance video on the center screen of the money drop yesterday morning, one that he’d probably watched more than a thousand times already. The video started with a view from a balcony ledge over the back side of a crowd of people who were all sitting in wooden pews inside an old church sanctuary. It was a traditional church setting. Lots of red carpet, ornate crosses, communion tables, stained glass windows, and a robed minister standing up front behind a wooden lectern.

  Frank had planted one of his guys with a hidden surveillance camera in the empty balcony. He’d had three more guys seated in the crowd. One of Frank’s top field operatives, Wilson, had been in the second row on the left side of the church’s lower level. The surveillance video zoomed in on the back of Wilson’s head for a moment. Sitting by himself, Wilson wore a dark suit and tie and looked like he belonged. Two older folks sat on the opposite end of the row from him. The sanctuary had two sections of wooden pews, with one center aisle and two outside aisles. Frank had calculated 189 people sitting on both sides of the center aisle. Ninety-four women, eighty-one men, and fourteen children. Seconds later, the surveillance video showed several men holding red velvet church bags walk up the aisles to the front of the sanctuary. The robed minister said a long-winded prayer, and then the men turned and began passing the offering bags.

  Frank’s attention was on only the left side. He watched closely as Wilson carefully dropped a thick brown envelope into an offering bag. Frank had placed a black X on the outside of the envelope, as instructed. The velvet bags were passed slowly down each row as the ushers gradually made their way toward the back of the sanctuary. Quick research on the church told Frank it was over a hundred years old—it looked like more than half the people in attendance yesterday had been there from the beginning. Frank was running names of every member listed in the church’s directory through their software, seeing if any matched the names they already had from the navy photograph. It was a long shot. The church had over twelve thousand names on an archaic roster that went back more than eighty years.

  Frank squinted at the computer screen. No one hurried with the bags. More than a dozen times, an old man or woman paused for several seconds while counting out change from a purse or a wallet before moving it forward. It took the congregation six minutes and thirty-seven seconds to get the bag to the back of the room. The bag on the left side was passed in front of 103 people. Seventy-one individual hands had actually reached inside up to wrist level—from what they could tell by enhancing the surveillance footage. Frank never spotted the brown envelope being lifted. Neither did any of his guys seated in the rows. However, when the bag got to the back of the room, the X envelope was gone—along with the $10,000 in crisp $100 bills that had been placed inside of it. Wilson had confirmed it with an usher afterward.

  Again, Frank saw nothing new in the footage. He sighed, shook his head. Someone had somehow managed to snag it. They’d narrowed it down to thirty-nine potential candidates. Thirty-one men and eight women of various ages. They were creating sparse profiles on all thirty-nine candidates. It was a ridiculous starting place. Whoever had initiated the cash drop yesterday was no fool. This wasn’t your everyday drop-a-bag-at-the-corner-and-walk-away type of deal. The complicated exchange had all the fingerprints of a professional.

  Frank did know one thing for certain. This wasn’t about $10,000.

  Someone was using today to simply test the market.

  Which meant a much bigger ask was forthcoming.

  SIX

  David’s first day at the firm was a bit of a blur between absorbing the news about Nick’s suicide and trying to get himself settled into his new workload. Although most of the associates and staff walked around in a daze much of the day, there were still clients to be served. So the immaculate hallways began seriously humming again around noon. Phones were ringing incessantly, copiers and printers were spewing paper, keyboards were being pounded, coffeepots were constantly brewing, clerks and assistants were running up and down hallways, and partners were yelling at their phones, at associates, and even at each other. Margie ordered David a deli sandwich when she actually heard his stomach rumble while inside his office.

  As if by planned strategy, almost every hour on the hour, a new partner or senior associate would drop by his office unannounced, say something like, “I need this by tonight, Stanford,” and set a thick folder or binder on his desk. The folders and binders piled up against the window behind him. By the end of the day, David would be able to build a fort with them around his desk. He figured he might as well use them to wall off the exit, because he wouldn’t be leaving the office for a long time. Leo practically lived in the office with him all day, laughing at times at the carousel of superiors dumping work on him.

  Margie left him at six. Leo stayed until seven before saying he had to get to his son’s Little League game. Dinner was catered by the firm—it was standard practice, always billed to clients. No one was expected to be gone by dinner. David ate a salad and some pasta and sucked down probably his tenth cup of coffee.

  Thomas poked his head inside David’s office around eight.

  “Knock, knock, counselor.”

  David looked up, his hair disheveled, a coffee stain on his shirtsleeve.

  “My draft done yet, rookie?” Thomas asked.

  David frowned. “You said Thursday.”

  Thomas smiled. “I’m joking—relax.”

  David sighed, rubbed his eyes. “Hard to relax when one of your buddies is dumping something on my desk every ten minutes. I’ve already got enough work for the next six months.”

  “Welcome to Hunter and Kellerman.”

  “Right.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Fine, I’ll give it to Tidmore instead.”

  “Hell no, I’ll get it done.”

  Thomas laughed. “You’ll get u
sed to the pace of this place. They’re all just testing you, seeing which of you rookies works best under pressure. We’re all placing bets on who will crack first. You’re my horse, David, so don’t let me down. But to be honest with you, Tidmore has much better odds around the office right now.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “Man, you’re way too easy today,” Thomas said, smiling. But then he pressed his lips together. “Considering the news of the day, I probably shouldn’t be joking about people cracking up in any way.” He glanced at his wrist. “I’ve got to get home and tuck my girls into bed. In all seriousness, QB, don’t let the pressure get to you. You don’t have to be a superhero, trust me. Just work hard, work smart, be patient, and know when to go home for the night.”

  Most of the other associates and partners began peeling off around nine—that seemed to be the hour they all started letting each other off the hook. By ten, the office was basically empty. Of course, the lights stayed on in the side-by-side offices of the firm’s two newest star recruits until well past midnight. The race for rookie of the year had officially begun, and neither man wanted to give ground on the very first day—even if one of their fellow associates had wigged out. David could barely keep his eyes open as he stared at the paperwork on his desk. But he didn’t even consider leaving. Finally, around one thirty in the morning, he noticed the light turn off next door.

  “See you in a few hours, Trailer Park,” Tidmore sneered, passing by his doorway.

  David waited another half hour and then finally called it a day. If he stayed any longer, Margie might find him drooling all over his desk the next morning.

  On the way to the elevator, David spotted the light on in another associate’s office. He wondered if someone else was really working even later than he was. As he neared the door, he noticed that the nameplate on the outside wall belonged to Nick Carlson. Someone was inside Nick’s office? Peering in the doorway, David found a guy probably in his thirties wearing a black jacket and a black ball cap rummaging through paperwork on the desk. Several of the desk drawers were pulled out and sitting on top of the desk. When the guy noticed David’s presence at the doorway, he looked up with narrowed eyes.

  “You need something?” he asked.

  “Nope. Just headed home. Was surprised to find someone else still here in the office.”

  “Building security,” the guy clarified.

  “Oh, all right.”

  “Have a good night, sir,” the guy said. But it sounded more like Get lost.

  Walking away, David began to ponder why the guy looked somewhat familiar. Was it from seeing him in the building lobby’s security booth?

  SEVEN

  After a grinder of a first workweek, David decided to join a group of other H&K associates at Buffalo Billiards on Sixth Street on Friday night. Thomas had suggested it would be good for him to start building some alliances within the firm, as men who put themselves on islands tended to get taken out more easily. Big-money law could be really cutthroat. David needed more than just Thomas sitting in his corner. It was admittedly hard for David to pull himself away from his desk, as he was more determined than ever to beat Tidmore to a pulp his first month at H&K. The guy took every chance he could to rub him wrong. Although billing entries were kept private among partners, David had heard through the grapevine that he and Tidmore were currently running neck and neck.

  Thankfully, Tidmore also joined them, which allowed David to relax a bit. At least he wouldn’t be falling behind. A group of about eight attorneys tossed back pitchers of beer, played pool, and threw darts. A pool tournament broke out among them, with a lot of trash talking, and David found himself consistently knocking balls into pockets and wiping out the competition. He used to hang out after hours at the Dutch Goose and play pool with the other staff back in Palo Alto, so he’d gotten pretty good with the stick.

  Everyone, including David, got a bit distracted when an attractive blonde in a short cocktail dress and high heels came over and began watching them all play. She looked to be in her midtwenties, like him. Tidmore made the first move, sidling up to her, flashing his perfect Yale smile, and trying to make small talk. Rolling his eyes, David grabbed another beer from the bar—he was getting a bit tipsy.

  As luck would have it, the pool competition resulted in a showdown between Tidmore and David. Tidmore kept bragging about how he’d had private lessons from some famous professional player back in Boston. Just another in a long line of ridiculous perks from his affluent upbringing. One of the associates asked David where he learned to play, to which David explained he was self-taught. Tidmore took an opportunity to mock him again.

  “David probably learned playing with truck drivers at some West Texas redneck joint after he was done cleaning the toilets each night.”

  A few guys laughed. Others told Tidmore to take it easy. David felt his blood boil—especially because the blonde was still watching everything closely. They’d made eyes at each other a couple of times, shared a quick smile, but he hadn’t talked to her yet. David had a good buzz going right now, and if Tidmore pushed him too far, things might get out of hand quickly. Exhaling a deep breath, David knocked in the eight ball and beat Tidmore. David got a few congratulations, but Tidmore wouldn’t let up about it.

  “This never would’ve happened if I had my own stick with me,” Tidmore stated.

  “You lost, Tidmore,” David said, shaking his head. “Just deal with it.”

  “Whatever,” Tidmore snapped. “You may beat me at pool, you may somehow manage to put in more billable hours than me, but it will never change the fact that you’ll always just be trailer-park trash. And nothing you do will ever change that fact. So deal with that.”

  Within seconds, David had grabbed Tidmore by the shirt collar and flung him on top of the pool table, ready to take his damn head off. Thankfully, several of the other associates grabbed him from behind and dragged him away before he did any real damage—to Tidmore’s face or to his budding legal career. One guy pushed him across the room and over to the bar, where he began to cool off and catch his breath.

  A delicate hand touched his shoulder from behind. He turned and found the blonde standing there.

  “Anyone sitting here?” she asked, nodding toward the empty stool next to him.

  “Uh, no . . . please . . . have a seat.”

  She sat next to him. “That was quite the scene back there.”

  David shook his head. “I’m embarrassed you saw that. I should have never lost my cool that way.”

  “Don’t be. That guy was a jerk. I wanted to punch him myself.”

  They shared a smile. She had perfect teeth.

  “I’m David.”

  “Melissa,” she replied.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. I’ll have what you’re having.”

  David quickly ordered up two more beers.

  “You here by yourself?” David asked.

  “I am now. I was hosting a couple of clients earlier who like this sort of thing.”

  “What kind of clients?”

  “I’m a financial adviser. What about you?”

  “An attorney with Hunter and Kellerman.” He intentionally mentioned the name of the firm in hopes of impressing her. It seemed to work.

  “I know that firm well. How long have you been with them?”

  “Just started this week. Drove in last weekend from Palo Alto.”

  “Stanford?”

  “Correct.”

  “Now you’re just trying to show off, David.”

  “Is it working?”

  She grinned. “So far.”

  They made a bit of small talk about Palo Alto. Melissa mentioned she had done her undergrad at Vanderbilt and was currently getting her MBA from UT. It was an easy conversation. David enjoyed it even more when he spotted Tidmore staring at them from across the room.

  “Have you found a place to live yet?” Melissa asked.

  “Not yet. I’ve be
en staying over at the Four Seasons. But I was hoping to look around this weekend. Don’t want to stay in the hotel forever.”

  “I know a great Realtor. How about I call her up, and we can show you a few places?”

  “Really? That’d be great.”

  “Will Sunday work?”

  “Sure.”

  They exchanged business cards.

  “I’m really beat, David. It’s been a long week for me, so I’m going to take off. No more bar fights, okay? I’d hate for you to miss our first date because you’ve been tossed in jail.”

  They shared a flirty smile.

  “I’ll try,” he replied.

  David watched her walk out. Across the way, he noticed Tidmore continuing to stare, so David gave him a wink and a grin. His rival flipped him the bird, which made David smile even wider. There was nothing better than seeing that guy’s pale face flush red with anger.

  EIGHT

  Frank Hodges again met his client in the presidential suite at the Driskill Hotel. It was nearing midnight. The curtains were all drawn, the suite dark except for a few lamps situated around the living room. Frank slid a folder across the coffee table—a full report on everything his team had gathered in their search thus far. His client picked up the folder, began to slowly review its detailed contents. Frank had easily found two of the men from the photo: both were long dead. One seaman had died in a farming accident more than twenty years ago in Iowa. A tractor trailer had tipped over and completely crushed him. The other navy boy had died from cancer of the liver eight years ago while living in Mississippi. Frank had copies of both death certificates. A third man from the photo lived in Casper, Wyoming, where he’d owned a successful insurance business for more than thirty years and had a very public profile. Two men lived in Texas—one near Houston, the other outside of Dallas. One of them was a complete drunk who couldn’t seem to hold a job. The other was a salesman for a printer company who lived a rather dull middle-class life.