I awoke the next morning just after five. Arya was still in bed. I went in quietly, and kissed her goodbye. She squeezed my hand and told me she loved me, then went back to sleep. I made my way home to get changed. I still felt shattered and I wasn’t relishing the thought of the next round of embarrassment that was bound to come that morning, but the immediate trauma of my lunch with Dave had vanished, and my brain had started to work again. I still couldn’t come up with a single argument to present to Judge Morrow as a legal way to be fair, but I wanted to get a head start on some research, if for no other reason, to reassure Sam – and myself – that I was on the case.
I started with a history of the Claims Court I had bought to provide myself with some background once I started to build up a substantial practice in the court and was submitting written briefs on a regular basis. It was surprisingly informative. The first thing I discovered was that the Act of Congress that created the court in February 1855 didn’t include any statute of limitations. But neither did it give the court very much power. Its jurisdiction was limited to contractual claims against the government, and while it could examine cases brought before it and make findings, the court had no power to issue final judgments. Congress clung on to the right to grant or refuse relief when it received the court’s findings. Eighty years on from independence the ‘King’ was still keeping a tight grip on the reins. In fairness, it didn’t take the government long to realise what a silly arrangement that was – a court that can’t issue judgments doesn’t deserve the name – and in 1861 President Lincoln called for the court to be given the power to issue its own judgments. Congress granted that power by the Act of March 1863. In 1887 there was another important change. The jurisdiction of the court was expanded considerably to give it jurisdiction, among other things, over claims based on the Constitution.
The first time there was any mention of a statute of limitations was in 1863. The Act of that year established the six-year period, and allowed plaintiffs whose claims had accrued more than six years before that a further three years to file. I couldn’t resist an ironic smile. Dave was wrong. We weren’t late by over 200 years. It wasn’t much more than 150. But it got even better. Part of our claim was based on the Constitution, the taking of private property for public use without compensation, and we couldn’t have sued for that until the 1887 Act came into effect. That Act also had a six-year limitation period. So Dave was even more wrong: the period in our case shouldn’t have started to run until March 3, 1893. So we were only late by something approaching 130 years. My satisfaction at proving Dave wrong about all that was, obviously, short-lived. The statute of limitations doesn’t care whether you’re late by 200 years or twenty-four hours. When you’re late, you’re late. This wasn’t how I was going to find Judge Morrow a legal way to be fair.
Sam had committed to helping Arlene in the office at least two days a week, and they came into my office together to find out how I was, just after eight thirty. There was no point in procrastination. I sat them both down with a cup of coffee and broke the news. I tried to say I was sorry, but Sam smothered me with a hug before I could complete the sentence. There was a stunned silence for a while.
‘Lord have mercy,’ Arlene said eventually. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t think of that, y’all. I mean, that’s like offensive pass interference. It blows the whole play, with a loss of down.’
‘It blows the whole game,’ I replied.
‘I’m not ready to give up,’ Sam said.
I smiled, thinking of Arya.
‘There must be something we can do about this. It’s just so unfair.’
There was that word again.
‘I know,’ I replied. ‘What I need to do is to translate that into a legal argument Judge Morrow can hang his hat on. I’m not there yet, but I’ve made a start this morning. We have seven days – well, six now, actually – before the hearing, and I’m going to spend all that time trying to come up with something. It just has to be something arguable at this stage, something to get us past the automatic bar. I’m going to do my best, Sam, I promise. I’m with you. We’re not giving up.’
The room went quiet again. I fiddled with my pen. Arlene was examining her nails, a recent manicure with a violent red polish. Sam was looking absently up at the ceiling. She suddenly came back to us and saw that Arlene and I were looking at her.
‘I’m sorry. I was miles away. I was thinking about something.’
‘What? All those family members in New Orleans?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It was something from the research I did on the Continental Congress and the war loans before I came to you. I read something… but I just can’t place it.’
‘Go on,’ I said encouragingly.
‘No, it’s gone. I’m going to have to hit the library again. There was something that might be helpful. I’ll try to find it again.’
‘All contributions gratefully received,’ I said.
Arlene ran her hands through her hair.
‘Hun, Lord knows, this has blown us away like a tumbleweed in a West Texas dust storm, and I really hate to bother y’all with anything else, but…’
‘Go for it. You might as well,’ I replied. ‘I don’t think I can feel any worse this morning.’
She grimaced. ‘I really wouldn’t be too sure about that, hun.’
I brought my hands up to cover my face.
‘Oh, God. What? What?’
She pushed a letter across the table in my direction.
‘You’re being audited,’ she said, ‘by the IRS. For the last five years.’
‘What?’
I scanned the letter and threw it angrily aside.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, is this some kind of joke?’
‘I’ve called Reg,’ she added. ‘He’s all set to go. He says not to worry, everything’s in order, but it’s going to be hell on wheels having those guys all over the office, turning everything upside down, for a week or more.’
Reg is my CPA. He’s a bit nerdy, but I like that in a CPA. He’s a brilliant accountant, and there’s not much he doesn’t know about income tax. All the same, this was the last thing I needed to hear. Having the IRS systematically going through five years of tax records in the small space we had, taking up my time and Arlene’s, would virtually bring us to a standstill. Bring us to a standstill. I paused to meditate on that thought, and the light dawned. I glanced at Arlene, and saw that the same thought had long since gone through her mind.
‘I’ve never been audited before,’ I said. ‘Now, I get audited for the past five years? A couple of weeks after I file a big lawsuit against the federal government? Is that a coincidence, or what?’
‘I sure as hell don’t think so,’ Arlene replied, ‘and neither does Powalski. Powalski thinks the IRS is running interference for the Department of Justice. But I’ll make sure to put them off for at least a couple of weeks, ’cause if Jesus tarries and the creek don’t rise, y’all are going to be in the fight of y’all’s life six days from now. The IRS don’t have a dog in that fight, and I ain’t about to let them put a leash on ours. No, ma’am.’
I sat back in my chair and pondered for a while.
‘You know what?’ I said. ‘Bad as this is, there’s also something really strange about it. Don’t you think?’
‘Strange, how?’ Arlene asked.
‘Well, according to Dave Petrosian, Justice figures they’ll have this all wrapped up next week when Judge Morrow grants their motion to dismiss. They don’t think we have any answer to it, and they may be right. So why would they need to resort to this? Why now?’
‘Perhaps somebody at Justice isn’t quite as convinced as Petrosian that they’re going to win?’ Sam suggested.
‘Maybe so,’ I replied.
‘They’re messing with your mind, hun,’ Arlene said. ‘They want to take your mind off of next week. Or else it’s a reminder of how much power they have. And if y’all do win next week, look out. This is just the beginning. I’m telling you, hun, it’ll be Katy bar the door then.’