EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, as Catherine sat at her desk drafting her memorandum to present to Judge Peterson, her concentration was interrupted by the buzz of her telephone.
“Cat, you told me to hold your calls, but Walter Jenkins is on line two.”
Catherine scratched her head. “Walter Jenkins? Did he say why he’s calling?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, I’ll take the call. Put it through.”
She picked up the handset. “Good morning, Walter. To what do I owe this honor?”
“I hear you need a lawyer.” She heard him chuckle.
“Maybe. How did you know?”
“Hell, Catherine, it’s all over the courthouse. Peterson’s going to show you who’s boss.”
“Bullshit. Liam told you.”
“Could be.”
“So, did you call me to gloat?”
“Hell, no, I called to represent you. I want to be your lawyer.”
“Thanks, but I can’t afford the eminent Walter Jenkins or any of his high-priced attorneys.”
“Nah, this one’s on the house. I never could stand Peterson and besides, I owe you one. Jack Sommers. You got us off an eighty million dollar hook.”
“Thanks, anyway, Walter, but…”
“No buts. It’s a done deal. Come on over this afternoon and we’ll work on it.”
She smiled and nodded, even though Walter couldn’t see her. “All right, I will. And thanks, Walter. I really do need an attorney. It’s very kind of you to offer. Who do you want me to see?”
“Who? Me, that’s who. I’m going to handle this personally. See you at two P.M.”
She put down the phone and reflected on life’s intersecting circles. Walter Jenkins, her boss and public enemy number one in 2005, the time she stood up for Ben Solomon and was fired. Walter Jenkins, who came unannounced to her office in 2012, begging Catherine to represent his firm when Victor Kelsen sued them for eighty million dollars. And now the tables had turned. She needed Walter and he seemed happy to repay the favor.
She dialed Liam. “So you spilled the beans to Walter?”
“I don’t want you going to jail. I’d be too lonesome. Are you going to see him today?”
“Yes, at two P.M. You didn’t tell him I was pregnant, did you?”
Silence.
“Liam?”
Silence.
“Damn, Liam. I don’t want Walter Jenkins knowing all my business.”
“Well, I don’t want you going to jail, and besides, your business is pretty obvious to anyone who looks at you.”
“What did he say when you told him about Peterson?”
“I think he already knew. Word’s getting around. I think you’re going to see a courtroom full of attorneys Thursday morning. They’ll be there for the show.”
“Oh Christ, Liam. That’s not good news. If the courtroom’s packed with lawyers, Peterson’s going to want to make a stand. He won’t back down in the presence of the attorneys who practice before him.”
“Is what it is, Cat. It’s an open courtroom. Call me after you meet with Walter.”
* * *
WALTER’S CORNER OFFICE HADN’T changed since Catherine worked at his firm in 2005. He still had his inlaid walnut cigar box sitting on his desk, even though he no longer smoked cigars. A putter, three golf balls and a water glass lay on a green runner next to the wall. A few pictures of his grandchildren at various stages of their development marked the passage of time. Catherine summed things up for Walter and leaned back in her chair.
“So, that’s the whole story, Walter. I won’t give Arthur the ammunition to stop his mother from her life’s quest. If I tell Judge Peterson that I’m meeting with Lena regarding her solemn promise to find Karolina’s daughters, if they’re still alive, Arthur will stop at nothing to prevent her. It may be about the money, it may be about his inheritance expectancies, it may be about control—hell, he may even be right—but I have the feeling that this quest is the most important thing in Lena’s life, and I’m going to fight like hell to give her the opportunity to see it through. It’s my right to resist attempts to reveal client disclosures. It’s Lena’s privilege to have her confidential communications protected.”
Walter raised his eyebrows and smiled. “As always, it’s Catherine the white knight. But this time Peterson has a point. He’s invoking the mental health act. He has a right to prevent a disabled adult from pursuing a financially disastrous course of conduct. Anyway, Arthur already knows about Karolina’s twins. It’s in his petition. I don’t understand what you’re hiding. You wouldn’t be disclosing anything that he doesn’t already know. What’s the harm in telling Peterson that Lena hired you to find Karolina’s daughters?”
“First of all, the harm goes to the core of the privilege—that whatever is said to an attorney in confidence shall not be disclosed without the client’s consent. The mental health act doesn’t do away with the privilege. In unusual circumstances, the privilege gives way only when necessary to protect against imminent danger to the client or others. There’s no danger here. Arthur alleges the risk of financial dissipation.
“Second, it’s about the follow-up questions. Once I reveal the subject matter of my representation, the judge will question me to reveal facts of the twins’ existence. Then he’ll want to know why it’s so damn important for a physically challenged woman to trek halfway around the world just to tell them something. And then he’ll want to know what that something is. These are things Lena does not want Arthur to know. There’s some secret here, Walter. I’m sure of it.”
“What’s the secret?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, but I don’t know. In order to serve my client, I need to keep Arthur from prying into Lena’s personal business. If I give in to Peterson, I’ve failed. Once I answer his first question and open the door, the avalanche will start. I have to make my stand at the very first question. I’m on solid ground and you know it.”
“Solid ground? Really, Catherine? You sound like one of our indignant clients. When has solid ground ever mattered when a judge wants to put his foot down? You’ve got yourself caught in a power struggle with the most cantankerous man on the Cook County bench. What’s worse, in this particular situation, this man cares more about losing face than who’s right.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
“You tell me, Catherine. How do you want to play it? I’m sure he’ll jump at a compromise solution, one which gets him out of this standoff and allows him to keep his rigid reputation intact.”
“Such as?”
“Would you agree to answer Peterson’s questions privately to him in his chambers? Kind of an offer of proof, an in-camera review of your knowledge? That way, Peterson can satisfy himself that Lena’s welfare is not in danger, and Arthur won’t know what you’ve said.”
Catherine shook her head. “I’d have no control over what Peterson does with the information I give him. He can and will ask me anything and everything. And if I disclose it all to him and he decides it’s material, then what? He has the power to order me to put it all on the record. Then if I refuse, we’re back to square one, except now I’ve divulged my client’s confidences and they’re not safe with him. I can’t see how that would work.”
Walter sighed. “Neither can I. Still, it would take brass balls for him to imprison a pregnant attorney on a civil contempt charge.”
“I don’t want you playing that card. First of all, I don’t think it would work. I don’t think Peterson gives a damn that I’m pregnant. Second, I’m not going to stand in front of all my peers and beg Peterson not to throw me into jail because I’m pregnant. I want him to acknowledge that the attorney-client privilege, as much as he doesn’t like it, gives me the right to refuse to answer his questions. I want to stand up for my client.”
Catherine reached into her attaché and pulled out a folder. “I’ve prepared a draft memorandum containing the points and authorities in support of my position. Use it if you think it’s helpful.”
Walter nodded. “I think it’s a good idea to file a brief, even though it won’t make any difference at the hearing. Its benefit will come when we have to appeal Peterson’s order. I’ll put a couple lawyers to work on this and see if they come up with anything else.”
Catherine rose. “I appreciate your help very much, Walter. You’re a good friend.”
“So are you. See you tomorrow morning.”