Gray Mountain (39 page)

“Is that what this meeting is about? My mother?”

“Professionally, Samantha, not personally, you understand. Have you discussed this with your mother?”

“No, of course not. In fact, I haven’t even thought about discussing it with her. This is out of her league, okay?”

“I don’t think so. We have serious contacts in D.C. and they believe Karen Kofer could help us.”

Samantha was bewildered and at a loss. She looked at Jeff and asked, “Is this why you came to New York? To get my mother involved?”

He quickly replied, “No, this is the first I’ve heard of it. I didn’t even know where your mother worked.” He was as sincere as a little boy being falsely accused, and she believed him.

“I didn’t discuss it with him, Samantha,” London said. “This is coming from our insiders in D.C.”

“Your lobbyists.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t we all have lobbyists? Love ’em or hate
’em, but they know the landscape. I’m afraid you’re taking this too personally. We’re not asking you to ask your mother to get directly involved in a federal investigation, but at the same time we understand how things work. People are people, friends are friends, a quiet word here and there and things can happen. Just think about it, okay?”

Samantha took a deep breath and said, “I’ll consider thinking about it.”

“Thank you.” He stood and stretched his legs again. She glared at Jeff, who was studying his boots. Rather awkwardly, London said, “Now, Jeff, can we discuss the delivery of the documents?”

Samantha jumped to her feet and said, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Jeff grabbed her arm, gently, and said, “Please, Samantha, don’t go. I need your input here.”

She shook free and said, “I’m not a part of your little conspiracy. You boys chat all you want to. You don’t need me. It’s been a pleasure.” She yanked open the door and disappeared.

Jeff caught her in the lobby and they left the hotel together. He apologized, and she assured him she was not upset. She didn’t know Jarrett London, certainly didn’t trust him as a stranger, and wasn’t about to discuss sensitive issues in his presence. They drifted up Fifth Avenue, lost in the crowd, and managed to move the conversation away from anything related to coal. She pointed out the building where her mother was currently living in luxury. She was expected at yet another dinner party there later in the evening, but she had already canceled. She had promised the night to Jeff.

S
uspecting that he might not appreciate a three-hour marathon in a four-star restaurant, she avoided the fancy places and got a table at Mas in the West Village. On a frigid night it was the perfect choice—warm and cozy with the ambience of a real French farmhouse. The menu changed daily and was not extensive. Jeff read through it once and confessed he didn’t recognize any of the dishes. A waiter suggested the four-course fixed-price offering for $68, and Samantha agreed. Jeff was appalled at the price, but soon
impressed with the food. Shrimp crusted with spaghetti squash, pork and apple sausage, wild striped bass with leek fondue, and a chocolate torte. They drank a bottle of Syrah from the Rhône Valley. When the cheese cart rolled by Jeff almost chased it. Samantha called the waiter over and explained that they would like to add a cheese course, with more wine.

As they waited for the cart, Jeff leaned closer and said, “Will you think about something?”

“I’m not promising anything. I’m not sure I trust you.”

“Thanks. Look, this may sound crazy, and I’ve really struggled with the idea of even mentioning this to you. So, I’m still struggling, but here it is.”

For one horrible split second, Samantha thought he was going to propose marriage. They weren’t even a couple! And she had no plans to get serious. So far they had put sex before any hint of love. Surely, this somewhat rustic mountain boy wasn’t smitten enough to stumble into a proposal.

He wasn’t, but his idea was almost as unsettling. He said, “I own the office building, or I will at some point after probate. I’m also the executor of Donovan’s estate, so I’m in charge of his business. Me, Mattie, and the judge, I guess. You’ve seen the list of his cases; he left a lot of work behind. Mattie will take a few cases, but not many. Her desk is busy enough and it’s not her type of work. What we need is for someone to take over the firm. The estate has the money to hire a lawyer to finish Donovan’s business. Frankly, there’s no one else in the county that we would even consider.”

She was holding her breath, fearing a clumsy proposal, hearing a bizarre suggestion, and when he paused she finally exhaled and said, “Oh boy.”

“You would work closely with Mattie and Annette, and I’ll always be around.”

It wasn’t a complete shock. At least twice Mattie had vaguely broached the idea of hiring a lawyer to wrap up Donovan’s cases. On both occasions, the words sort of hung in the air, but Samantha felt as though they were tossed at her.

She said, “I can think of at least ten reasons why that won’t work.”

“I can think of eleven why it will work,” he shot back with a grin. The cheese cart stopped at the table, its pungent aromas and odors engulfing them. Samantha selected three. Jeff preferred sharp cheddar from the dairy case, but quickly caught on and said he’d take the same ones as Samantha. When the cart rolled away, he said, “You go first. Give me your best reason, and I’ll match it.”

“I’m not qualified.”

“You’re smart as hell and you’re learning fast. With Mattie’s help, you can handle anything. Next.”

“I might be gone in a few months.”

“But you can leave when you want to. There’s no contract requiring you to return here in twelve months. You said yourself that the legal market is saturated and depressed and there are no jobs. Next.”

“I’m not a litigator. Donovan’s firm was all about litigation.”

“You’re twenty-nine years old and you can learn anything. Mattie told me you’re very quick on your feet and already better than most local yokels in the courtroom.”

“Did she really say that?”

“Would I lie?”

“Oh yes.”

“I’m not lying. Next reason.”

“I’ve never handled an appeal, much less an appeal with a big verdict.”

“The lamest one yet. Appeals are all research and paperwork. Piece of cake. Next.”

“I’m a city girl, Jeff. Look around you. This is my life. I can’t survive in Brady.”

“Okay, good point. But who says you have to stay there forever? Give it a go for two or three years, help us get his cases closed and the fees collected. There’s some money out there that I don’t want to lose. Next.”

“Some of his cases could drag on for years. I can’t make that commitment.”

“Then commit to the Tate appeal. That’s eighteen months max. It’ll fly by and we’ll figure out what to do next. Along the way, you can pick and choose other cases that look promising. I’ll help. I’m a pretty good ambulance chaser. Next.”

“I don’t want to deal with Donovan’s widow.”

“You won’t have to, I promise. Mattie and I will take care of Judy. Next.”

She smeared some Camembert on a crostini and took a bite. Chewing, she said, “I don’t want people following me. I don’t like guns.”

“You can practice law without a gun. Look at Mattie. They’re afraid of her. And, like I said, I’ll be close and I’ll protect you. Next.”

She swallowed and took a sip of port. “Okay, here’s one you can’t handle, and there’s no way to say it without being blunt. You and Donovan played by different rules. You stole documents in the Krull Mining case, and I’m sure you’ve cut corners in other cases. I get the feeling that some of the files in that office are, shall we say, contaminated. I want no part of them. The FBI has raided the place once. I’m not going to be there when they raid it again.”
“It’s not going to happen, I swear. There’s nothing, other than Krull, to worry about. And I will not jeopardize you or the office. I promise.”

“I don’t completely trust you.”

“Thanks. I’ll earn your trust.”

Another bite of cheese, another sip of port. He was eating too, and waiting. He counted with his fingers and said, “That’s only nine reasons, all of which I have just brilliantly shot down.”

She said, “Okay, number ten, I’m not sure I would get much work done with you around.”

“Good point. You want me to keep my hands off.”

“I didn’t say that. Look at me, Jeff. I’m not in the market for romance, okay? Period. We can fool around all we want, but it’s just for fun. The moment things turn serious, then we’ll have problems.”

He smiled and chuckled and said, “So, let me get this straight.
You want to engage in all manner of sexual behavior but without the slightest twinge of commitment. Gee. That’s a tough one. It’s a deal. You win. Look, Samantha, I’m a thirty-two-year-old bachelor and I love being single. You need to understand that Donovan and I were scarred when we were very young. Our parents were miserable and couldn’t stand the sight of each other. It was a war and we were the casualties. To us ‘marriage’ was a dirty word. There’s a reason Donovan and Judy split.”

“Annette said he was quite the tomcat.”

“She should know.”

“I suspected them. For a long time?”

“Who keeps records? And he didn’t tell me everything. Donovan was very private, as you know. Did he put the move on you?”

“No.”

“And if he had?”

“It would have been difficult to say no, I’ll admit.”

“Very few women said no to Donovan, including Annette.”

“Does Mattie know?”

He took a sip of port and glanced around the dining room. “I doubt it. She doesn’t miss much in Brady, but I’m guessing Donovan and Annette were very discreet. If Mattie found out, there would have been complications. She adores Judy and considers Haley a grandchild.”

The waiter stopped by and she asked for the check. Jeff offered to pay for dinner, but she insisted on treating. “You can buy dinner in Brady,” she said. “I’ll pay in New York.”

“Not a bad deal.”

The cheese was gone and the port was disappearing. For a long time they sat and listened to the conversations around them, some in different languages. Jeff smiled and said, “Brady is far away, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is. Another world, and it’s not mine. I gave you ten reasons, Jeff, and I’m sure I can think of ten more. I won’t be there long, so please try and understand.”

“I understand, Samantha, and I don’t blame you.”

J
eff began the New Year with a bang by getting himself arrested at the airport in Charleston, West Virginia. Around 10:00 p.m. on the first Sunday of the year, a guard strolling through the general aviation area noticed a man attempting to hide in the shadows of a Beech Bonanza, near several other small aircraft. The guard pulled a gun and ordered the man, Jeff, to step away from the airplane. The police were called. They put handcuffs on him and took him to jail. He called Samantha at six the following morning, but just for an update. He was not expecting her to come to the rescue because he had lawyer friends in Charleston. She asked the obvious: “What were you doing snooping around the airport on a Sunday night?”

“Investigating,” he said. Someone was yelling in the background.

She shook her head in frustration at his recklessness. “Okay, what can I do?”

“Nothing. It’s just trespassing. I’ll be out in a few hours. I’ll call.”

Samantha hurried to the office and made the coffee before 7:00 a.m. She had little time to worry about Jeff and his latest adventure. She reviewed her notes, organized a file, poured a cup of coffee for the road, and at 7:30 took off for Colton, a one-hour drive in
which she rehearsed her arguments with the judge and the lawyer for Top Market Solutions.

She walked into the Hopper County courthouse, alone. Gone were the days when either Mattie or Annette led interference. She was on her own now, at least for the Booker case. Pamela met her in the hallway and thanked her again. They entered the courtroom and sat at the same table where Donovan Gray had sat with Lisa Tate less than three months earlier, the same spot where they had held hands as the jury returned a just verdict. It was not lost on Samantha that in all likelihood she would be involved in the appeal of that verdict. But not today. Today they were not fighting over anything close to $3 million. Five thousand was more like it, but, judging from Samantha’s nerves, it could have been millions.

The judge called them to order and asked Samantha to proceed. She breathed deeply, looked around, saw that there were no spectators, reminded herself that it was a simple case over a paltry sum, and plowed ahead. She made some brief opening remarks, and called Pamela to the witness stand. Pamela described the old credit card judgment, identified the divorce decree, described what it was like to have her paycheck garnished and her job terminated, and did a beautiful job of talking about living with her two children in her car. Samantha produced certified copies of the credit card judgment, the divorce decree, the garnishment order, and payroll records from the lamp factory. After an hour on the stand, Pamela returned to counsel table.

Top Market Solutions had a weak defense and an even weaker lawyer. His name was Kipling, a low-end litigator from a two-man firm in Abingdon, and it was obvious Kipling had little enthusiasm for the facts or for his client. He rambled on about how Top Market had been deceived by the credit card company and had acted in good faith. His client had no idea the judgment it was trying to enforce had expired.

The judge had no patience with Kipling and his ramblings. He said, “Your motion to dismiss is overruled, Mr. Kipling. Now, let’s go off the record.” The court reporter relaxed and reached for a coffee cup. The judge said, “I want this matter settled, and now.
Mr. Kipling, it’s obvious your client has made a mistake and caused a lot of discomfort to Ms. Booker. We can have a full-blown trial in a month or so, right here, in front of me, no jury, but that would be a waste of time because I’ve already decided the case. I assure you it will cost your client less now if it agrees to settle.”

“Well, uh, sure, Your Honor,” Kipling stuttered, on his heels. It was highly unusual for a trial judge to be so blunt about a future ruling.