8
TUESDAY, JUNE 5
9:47 A.M.
NATIONAL CAMERA EXCHANGE, EDINA
SUBURBAN MINNEAPOLIS
Sales Assistant Andrew Pinz set the camera he’d just retrieved from the back room onto the counter. “You clearly have an eye for quality, choosing a Kronzfeldt,” Pinz said. “Wildlife shots?”
The customer shook his head. “Sports.”
It was going to be a great morning, Andrew thought. A great morning. He was about to sell a preordered, high-shutter-speed Kronzfeldt Cyber-Shot, along with a high-end telephoto lens, all totaling nearly four thousand dollars. And it wasn’t even lunchtime. At this rate, by the end of the week he’d have earned enough commissions to pay off the credit card debt he’d taken on for his upcoming trip to Virgin Gorda.
“Let me take a moment,” Andrew began, “and tell you about our warranties.”
“No. I’d just like to pay now.”
Better still. “Alright. Do be sure to fill out the warranty form online when you get home. Will it be check or charge today?”
“Cash.”
Andrew watched the customer pull out a stack of bills from a jacket pocket. While Andrew bagged the purchases, the customer counted out a series of hundreds, a few fifties, then twenties. He laid them on the counter.
Andrew smiled as he recounted the bills; the last thirty were crisp and new. “Nearly exact. You have seventy cents in change coming.”
“No need,” the customer said, taking the bag. “I have to run.”
As the customer left the store, Andrew turned to the register and began dividing the bills by denomination. When he came to the crisp ones, he held one up to the light, expecting to see a recent printing date.
The bills were twenties, but they looked all wrong. Not like forgeries exactly, but on the front, Jackson appeared too small.
He studied one more closely. To his surprise, it was dated 1983.
Andrew thumbed through the rest of the new-looking bills. All were twenties, and all were dated the same. Storing them neatly away, he closed the register.
Apparently the customer had raided the mattress for this purchase. But Andrew didn’t care. So long as the man didn’t return the merchandise, his commission was set—cash or credit card.
He could already feel the sugary sand of Virgin Gorda between his toes.
10:00 A.M.
WELLS & HOY LAW OFFICE
DOWNTOWN MINNEAPOLIS
Katie wasn’t at the reception desk when Ian returned. From the cracked door at the end of the hallway, he could tell his partner was in. He forced himself to head straight there.
Dennis Hoy’s office looked like tornado alley, but then Ian had no memories of it ever looking any different. Even when he’d visited the law office as a child, papers had always been piled high and strewn in all directions.
Ian’s sixty-four-year-old partner was seated on a love seat in the only area not covered in papers. He scrunched his forehead as Ian came into the room with a worried look on his face.
“Dennis,” Ian began, “we have to talk.”
The older lawyer nodded. “I know. I found the pleadings on Katie’s desk this morning. What’s going on with this lawsuit?”
Ian hesitated, uncertain about how to start. “I haven’t seen it yet, but Katie tells me it’s some children of a woman Dad represented.”
“I know that much,” said Dennis, his forehead growing red. “But did you know they’re claiming your father committed fraud by helping the other children? And that the Complaint is almost dripping punitive damages? Which would mean our malpractice insurance wouldn’t cover that part of the claim.”
Ian felt his own face flushing.
“I know the lawsuit’s probably hogwash,” Dennis went on. “Still, the timing couldn’t be worse. I was planning on telling you I’m retiring at the end of this month.” He paused, his voice tightening. “What I also haven’t told you is that Charlene’s asked me for a divorce, and for half of everything I’ve ever earned. Thirty-five years of marriage. Thirty-five years. A month before I retire, she wants out.”
Ian’s stomach fell. He had to get this out. “It’s worse than that,” he said. He explained about their insurance having lapsed.
The shade of color in Dennis’s face turned to purple. “What were you thinking?” he shouted. “You should’ve borrowed the money from me to cover the premium.”
Ian had never heard this tone from his even-tempered partner. “It was a miscommunication between Katie and me,” Ian said. He stopped and shook his head. “No, that’s not fair. Katie tried to tell me, but I wasn’t listening. This is on me alone. But Dennis, you knew my dad. You know there’s nothing to this lawsuit.”
“No, I didn’t know Connor,” his partner roared as he straightened on the couch like a rocket about to launch. “We worked together for twenty-five years, and you and I have had more conversations these last five than I ever had with your dad. With Connor, this place was always an eat-what-you-kill operation—just like between you and me. Separate books, separate bank accounts. We could’ve been separate law firms, the way we operated. And with your father being the quietest lawyer I’ve ever known, I didn’t know Connor.” Dennis closed his eyes, his anger peaking.
“I’ll take care of this,” Ian promised.
Dennis seemed to collapse deeper into the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know your dad was a great lawyer and a good man. But I can’t afford this, Ian.”
“I told you. I’ll take care of it.”
“How?”
“I’ve got some fresh work.”
The explanation sounded hollow even to himself. Dennis dropped his face into his hands.
Staring at the partner he’d worked with these past five years, Ian remembered when Dennis offered him his father’s slot at Wells & Hoy Law Office. It was just a week after Connor died. At the time, Ian was about to graduate from law school, busily interviewing at the same places as Brook and her boyfriend, Zach—big firms with growing litigation practices. Both Dennis and Connor had been estate planners, and Ian knew the offer to replace his father carried little likelihood of help in building the criminal-defense practice he really wanted. In fact, the proposal had the trappings of a courtesy.
But the next day, Ian told Dennis in this very room that he’d join him as a partner with the same arrangement as his dad. Dennis’s expression had bordered on shock, though he’d never asked Ian to explain, and Ian had never volunteered his reasons.
Now, at the end of their partnership, it had come to this.
“I’m good for it,” Ian said more forcefully. “That’s a promise.” Then he headed back into the hallway, closing his partner’s door behind him.
He stopped at the reception desk, where Katie had returned.
She looked up, worry in her eyes. “Everything okay?” she asked. He could tell she’d heard the exchange.
“Sure,” Ian answered shortly. He briefly explained his meeting with Callahan the day before, not mentioning the amount of the fee or Callahan’s final words. He dropped the envelope with the cash on her desk and told her to deposit it.
He retreated into his own office. Seated behind his desk, Ian looked up at his parents’ wedding photo on the wall. His mother’s eyes, wide and excited, looked slightly down and toward Connor at her side, conveying a wisp of caution. He’d always assumed it was concern for not tripping on the train of her gown.
But that wasn’t it. Ian understood that now. Intuitive Martha Brennan, just transformed to Martha Wells, must have been worried about marrying a lawyer. And rightly so. What a profession. Architects didn’t tear down other architects’ buildings. Engineers didn’t sabotage other engineers’ bridges. Doctors didn’t try to ruin other doctors’ reputations. Only lawyers, sharks, and spiders fed off their own.
He looked again at the limited files on his desk. He’d best get to it. Clear away any distractions. Call Callahan and accept—tell him he had a lawyer.
For the next week, Ian would be investigating this trust and little else until he’d earned that fee.