The Great Divide (6 page)

“I don’t know anything yet.” To Netty, “Once you get that listing, I want you to run it by a legal search engine.”

His secretary and the paint-spattered black man shared a glance. Netty said, “Come again?”

“LEXIS is good. Use them.” Marcus cradled the phone as he spelled the name. “Have them pull past court records. We’re looking for any cases pending or settled against the various New Horizons facilities. Tell them we’re looking for a basic track record, just want to query past practices.” He waited while Netty and Deacon exchanged another glance. “Well?”

Netty said to the old man, “Sounds to me like real live law is being practiced around here.”

He raised the phone. “Marcus Glenwood.”

A very nervous voice said, “My name is Kirsten Stanstead.”

“The girl mentioned in Gloria’s letter?”

“Yes. We’re housemates. I’m also Gloria’s best friend.”

Strung out was the term that came to mind. As though the voice were a viola string, and the tuning knob had been twisted until the wire hummed of its own accord. “Have you heard from her?”

“Of course not.” The response was not snappish, though Kirsten held to the haughty citified air of one born to money. She sounded like a woman ready to detonate. “Why would we be going to all this trouble if Gloria had contacted us?”

“Right.” Marcus pulled over his swivel chair. “I see.”

“I understand you’re taking the case.”

“I am considering it.”

“Considering.” The voice twisted one notch tighter. “How fortunate for Gloria that her parents found someone so committed.”

Marcus detected a faintly nasal twang beneath the strain. Probably Boston. He wondered what her parents thought of their blue-blooded daughter living with a black woman from Rocky Mount. “First I need to see if there is any case at all, Miss … ”

“Stanstead. I personally feel that the barest of investigations would show that there is an excellent case here.”

“I see.”

“Actually, I was calling to offer my assistance. Gloria left some documents you could use as evidence. That was her intention all along.”

Marcus bent closer to his desk. “Gloria Hall was preparing a case against New Horizons?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Kirsten pushed out an exasperated breath. “It was the topic of her master’s thesis. Alma told me she had already spoken to you about this.”

“I know about the thesis, yes. But not about a case. Or compiled evidence.”

“I was assisting her. I have completed a year of law school.”

“You’re studying at Georgetown also?”

“No.” A moment’s hesitation. “For the past several years I’ve been involved full-time in charity work.”

“Right.” He nodded to the wall. A perfect Brahmin response. When life offered more of a challenge than they liked, the rich hid in charities. She probably organized celebrity jewelry auctions or bridge afternoons. His ex-wife had made a profession of charity wine tastings. “Miss Stanstead, could you tell me what kind of trouble Gloria had been in?”

The tone flashed from tense to furious. “What
is
it with you guys?”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You’ve been talking to that other lawyer!”

“It’s common practice for incoming counsel—”

“Oh give me a break! I should have known! You’re all the same, just money-grubbing parasites!”

Marcus held the phone away from his ear, retreating tortoise-like as he had done so often from his wife. “Not at—”

“You listen to me. The only trouble Gloria has been in came from looking after the rights of people who couldn’t look after themselves! Which is more than anyone could ever say about you and your kind!”

The phone slammed down. Marcus sat staring at the receiver. Perhaps this was something mothers taught their daughters in the rarefied atmosphere of the long-term rich. Or maybe it was a genetic thing, this ability to fly into unbridled rage at the drop of a single improper syllable.

He turned around to find Netty and Deacon standing in the doorway. Netty was at the foot of the ladder, Deacon leaning over from halfway up. Both still watching him. “What is it?”

“Seems like an awful lot of trouble,” Netty replied, “for a case you’re not sure you’re taking.”

The preacher did not say anything Marcus could hear. Deacon hummed a single note as he climbed back up and returned to his painting. Dipping his brush, the ladder creaking as he shifted to reach a corner, still holding to that one hummed note.

L
OGAN
K
ENDALL’S SECRETARY
said through his open door, “Randall Walker just arrived.”

“You set up the coffee, I’ll go bring him back. Have Suzie Rikkers join us.” Logan hustled down the partners’ hallway, then halted by the entrance to the reception foyer to check his reflection. He had once heard his secretary describe him as a middleweight bruiser with a taste for Armani. In truth, the only thing Logan Kendall loved more than fighting was winning. Which was why he was merely a good attorney, but a great trial lawyer. Logan had boxed for six years, choosing his undergraduate school on its strength in the ring. He smoothed his mustache, adjusted his tie and his smile, and entered the lobby with hand outstretched. “Mr. Walker, I can’t tell you what an honor this is.”

“Randall to you, my boy.” The founder of the legal powerhouse of Kedrick and Walker pumped Logan’s hand. In the clannish atmosphere of Carolina law, Randall Walker was something of a legend. Two of Logan’s senior partners were there to watch his stock soar. “And the honor is all mine.”

“I’ve set up our meeting in the partners’ conference room.”

“Fine, fine. Haven’t been here since you fellows moved. How long has it been?”

“Not quite two years.” In fact, they had been the first tenants to sign a long-term lease in the newly completed First Federal Tower, the tallest building in Raleigh. They had rented the top three floors and agreed without a quibble to the exorbitant rent, demanding only two conditions: The firm of Knowles, Barbour and Bradshaw was to be the only law firm granted space in the building, and First Federal was to appoint them outside counsel.

Randall swung easily into step alongside Logan. “This arrangement was Marcus Glenwood’s work, wasn’t it?”

Logan faltered momentarily. Marcus Glenwood remained a name he despised. The only person who loathed Glenwood more was Suzie Rikkers. And for good reason. “A number of us had a hand in putting the deal together.”

“Of course you did. Even so, I’d have to say it was a smart move
on Glenwood’s part. Very smart. The First Federal contract he brought in more than pays the rent.”

Logan bit off the snarl before it could fully form. When Randall Walker’s secretary had called to set up this meeting, she had said Randall expected to pay the full hourly rate. For both Suzie and himself. That earned Randall Walker the title of client. And a client was permitted one snide remark. One.

Logan led him into the largest salon in the partnership and said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my associate, Suzie Rikkers.”

Suzie Rikkers was an oddity, an outstanding legal analyst and a fair trial lawyer who was constantly on the verge of being fired. What put most people off Suzie Rikkers was her attitude. She alternated between treating life as a battlefield and complaining that people never gave her a chance. Every problem was a personal attack. When she was not angry, her voice clung to an off-pitch mewl. Most of the partners avoided working with her, and the associates and paralegals loathed her. Two things kept Suzie Rikkers on staff—a solid client base, and Logan Kendall. Logan endured her attitude and loved her loyalty. She might be a witch with a buzz-saw voice, but she was his witch.

Suzie Rikkers offered their guest a rail-thin hand. “Mr. Walker.”

“A pleasure I’ve long awaited, Ms. Rikkers.” Randall Walker bowed slightly as he shook hands, then turned to admire the room. “This place is even more beautiful than I’d been led to believe.”

The firm’s inner sanctum reeked of legal heritage and beeswax polish. When the old courthouse was torn down, the firm had acquired the chief superior court justice’s private chambers. Paneling of South American mahogany graced three walls. The fourth wall was an enormous expanse of glass.

Logan turned to the side table where a coffee service of bone china had been set up. “How do you take your coffee, Randall?”

“Black, two sugars.” He continued his circuit of the interior walls. A pair of Chagall lithographs and a silk Kashmiri tapestry splashed the room with color. “I believe Mr. Glenwood was responsible for your acquiring the fittings of this room as well. Charlie Hayes, the old chief justice, was a personal friend, was he not?”

Logan’s hand jerked hard enough to spill coffee onto the saucer. He set down the pot and used a napkin to dry the stain. His back to the room, he replied, “Like I said, we all played a role in the move.”

“Yes, yes, of course you did. And my, what a lovely setting. Mr. Glenwood certainly made a splendid choice. The view from here is magnificent, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Rikkers?”

Logan turned in time to watch Suzie grind out the single word, “Great.” Marcus Glenwood had twice put his name to her being passed over for partner. And after she had hounded his favorite paralegal until the woman left for another firm, Marcus had spent months trying to gather enough support to have Suzie fired. Defeating that motion was the one battle Logan had managed to win outright against Marcus Glenwood.

“Thank you, Logan.” Randall accepted his cup and pointed toward the sunlit day. “Is that White Memorial’s steeple I see out there?”

“I have no idea.” Logan poured himself a cup and sat down. He did not need to admire the view. The first weekend after being made partner, Logan had spent an entire Saturday afternoon sitting in one of these padded suede chairs. Raleigh was full of parks and trees old enough to blanket all but the tallest buildings. Away from downtown, steeples rose like pointed reminders that this was indeed a city and not merely well-tended woodlands.

Instead of taking the expected seat at the head of the table next to Logan, Randall walked around the conference table and stood up close to the window. After a loud sip from his cup he declared, “Do you know, I can stand right here and point to five of our clients’ headquarters. No, make that six. I’m almost positive that’s the roofline of the Burroughs headquarters I see out there in the distance.” He turned back and beamed at the room. “Must make you feel like the lords of all you survey, sitting up here in this fine chamber. Speaking of which, Logan, I believe congratulations are in order. You’ve recently been made partner, is that not correct?”

“Yes.” Four months tomorrow, to be exact. Some days he could scarcely believe he had made the grade. Most days, however, he felt like he had been at it for a lifetime.

The grand smile turned to where Suzie sat sipping her coffee. “And I have no doubt your own star will soon be rising, Ms. Rikkers.” He paused for another slurp, then added, “Especially now that your nemesis has been removed.” Randall Walker turned back to the vista. He shook his head in admiration. “My, my.”

Logan demanded, “Could you tell us why you called this meeting?”

“Why, I thought that would be clear by now. I wish to discuss Marcus Glenwood.” Before they could recover, he continued. “Logan, you have been with this firm for eight years, if my information is correct. And Ms. Rikkers, you’ve been here a bit longer now, isn’t that right?”

Suzie gave Logan a startled glance, searching for her cue. “Almost nine.”

“Actually, it’s ten next month, isn’t that correct?” He continued to address his questions to the window. “Logan, you are from Baltimore, do I have that right?”

“I fail to see—”

“University of Maryland undergrad and UVA law. Married a woman from Raleigh who was studying art history at that fine Jeffersonian establishment. Three lovely children, two boys and one girl who is approaching her second birthday as we speak.” Another noisy sip. “And you, Ms. Rikkers, hail from Chicago, our nation’s fine and windy city. Undergrad and law school at Northwestern. And still unmarried, a fact I find most astonishing. It must be from preference, certainly not from lack of opportunity.” His speech held a courtly air, as though bestowing a royal welcome. “Marcus was born in the Philadelphia area. Although his roots are mostly from these parts.”

Suzie Rikkers’ voice had the metallic quality of having been pounded flat on an anvil. “Why have you been checking up on me?”

“That’s simple enough, Ms. Rikkers. I like to know the people I’m addressing.” Randall finally turned from the window and slid into the seat directly across the table from them. “Now perhaps you would be so kind as to give me your impressions of your recently departed colleague.”

Logan studied the man across from them. In the space of a few minutes Randall Walker had entered their domain and wrested control, and done so with the kindliest of manners. The man certainly lived up to his reputation. Randall Walker had been the youngest person ever to serve upon the federal appellate bench. After holding that position for eight years, he had formed a partnership that now included two former senators and a retired governor among its ranks. Randall served on the board of over a dozen Fortune 500 companies,
and acted as outside counsel to another five or six. He charged 450 dollars an hour, the highest rate of any lawyer in the state.

“Marcus Glenwood is history,” Suzie Rikkers snapped. “That’s all you need to know.”

Randall nodded benignly. “He must have been quite a good trial attorney, to have risen to partnership in less than six years.”

“So-so. He had great connections.” Suzie’s nails did a nervous dance upon the table. “Most of them through his wife. Her family was serious old money.”

“His wife, yes. You represented her in their divorce, what was her name?”

“Carol Clay Rice.”

“That’s right. As in Rice Communications and the Rice Foundation.”

Logan disliked being blindsided, and he distrusted the man’s courtly manner. He remained silent and let Suzie respond. “Marcus was dirt-poor. I learned that from his former mother-in-law. His parents split up and disappeared when he was about ten. He was raised by his grandparents.”