A Good Kind of Trouble (A Trouble in Twin Rivers Novel Book 1) (15 page)

“I didn’t know you were a runner,” Teri said.
 

From the floor under Lyle’s desk, Lindsey could see Teri’s brown, low-heeled pumps. But she could hear the suppressed laughter in the city attorney’s voice at the idea of Lyle Wilkes as an extreme athlete. Lindsey took an instant dislike to the woman’s condescending tone. And her ugly shoes.

“Sure, yep. Training for a marathon these days.”
 

Lyle sounded winded, but it was from the excitement of having a reporter barge into his office, not from running any distance. Lindsey bit her lip and held her breath while Lyle lied to the city attorney.
 

“Oh, all right,” Teri Schulman said. She didn’t sound at all convinced. “Did you have time to review the new bond proposal yet? I’d like to get a summary and recommendation to the council right away.”
 

“I’m still working on it. I’ll get it to you this afternoon.”

“I also sent you that retainer agreement for Stanton & Lowe. Did you get that?”
 

The name of Ben’s law firm made Lindsey’s stomach jump. Were they involved in the arena proposal? Wouldn’t Ben have mentioned that?
 

“I gave it to your secretary. It looks fine,” Lyle said, sounding like he would agree to anything to get his boss out of his office.
 

There was a long pause, and then Teri Schulman cleared her throat. “Okay, then. I’ll let you get back to work,” she said. “Good luck with your training.”
 

“What? Oh, sure. Thanks.”
 

The door closed and Lindsey exhaled. Lyle came around the desk and helped her to her feet.
 

“That was close,” he said. “You better get out of here.”
 

“I can’t leave now. She’s probably right out in the hall.”
 

Lyle’s eyes flickered toward the closed door. “Oh this is terrible,” he said, his voice low. “If she sees you here, she’ll fire me. And now I probably have to start jogging, too.”
 

He looked more distressed at the thought of exercise than being fired.
 

“You were telling me about the bonds,” Lindsey prompted. “Is there something wrong with the same bank handling the bonds for both the arena and the sewage plant?”
 

Lyle shook his head and made an exasperated sound. "Don't you get it? It's all connected. The stadium deal is the carrot—there's a lot of popular support for it. But the sewage treatment plant is what's going to cost the city millions of dollars. The deal is structured in such a way that the city has to do both with EFB to get the stadium deal. The bank is already running ads drumming up support for a sports arena. If the city council vetoes it, they'll be voted out."

Lindsey's heart raced. He wasn't a nut-bucket. In fact, Lyle just confirmed everything that she and Ben had surmised from the contracts. She was close to having enough proof to write this story. She just needed to get copies of all the contracts from the city to confirm they were the same as the drafts she'd gotten in the mail.
 

"But if they pass the arena plan, it's linked to the sewage treatment plant, which will cost the city a bundle." Lindsey was starting to figure out exactly how devious this scheme was. "Plus, there's the refinancing requirements, so the city will lose the favorable rate and will pay exorbitant fees to EFB on a regular basis. If the council kicks the true costs ten years down the road, they'll be out of office by then and it will be blamed on someone else."
 

"Yes! Exactly!" Lyle’s glasses slid down his nose as he bobbed his head. "You read the information I sent you!"
 

She hadn't gleaned any of that information from the documents Lyle had sent. But with Ben's help, she'd been able to figure out some of the clauses. Lyle had also included some correspondence and she understood that there was concern about initial rates, refinancing, adjustments in interest rates, and other items, but the language was hard to decipher, at least without her translator.

"Did you talk to the council members about it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course I did, Miss Fox. But they're unsophisticated when it comes to the details of these bond deals. Most people are. That's what EFB counts on. I thought I had a couple of sympathetic ears, but then those members changed their minds and said they didn't see any problem with the contracts. About that time, they all started... I don't know, acting weird around me. And they suddenly had more disposable income, too. Did you see the watch the mayor is wearing these days? It's a Rolex."
 

Lindsey rubbed the back of her neck where her muscles were bunching from stress. "Are you saying they took money from EFB? That's serious. That's bribery."
 

Lyle shook his head. "I have no proof of that. But the timing is pretty suspect, don't you think?"

She had to agree. The timing didn’t look good, but it was still all coincidence. She had another coincidence she needed to investigate—the sales of the properties surrounding the proposed arena. Maybe Lyle could help her with the story she was working on in court yesterday.
 

"Can I ask you another question?"

Lyle looked around his office as if he expected someone to be listening in. He lowered his voice. "I guess so."
 

"How did the city choose the site for the arena? I mean, what is the process to do that?"
 

The attorney tilted his head. "That wasn't my project, so I don't have a lot of details. There were only three or four sites in the city that would be suitable, so it was limited. But Teri Schulman handled the site selection committee’s work."

“Who was on the committee?”

“Other than Ms. Schulman? A couple of people from the planning department, someone from law enforcement, I think. I’m not sure who exactly because I didn’t work on it and all the paperwork is strictly confidential. Most of the legal work was done by an outside law firm.”

“Was it Stanton & Lowe?”

Lyle shrugged. “I really don’t know. We work with them a lot. Could be.”
 

He crept up to the frosted glass door and listened, then gave her a nod. “I think it’s safe for you to leave now.”
 

Lindsey slung the strap for her bag over her shoulder and moved toward the door.

"Can we meet again? Spend some time on the contracts? I need to really understand what's going on with all of them and you sent so many different versions. It's confusing. I don't want to get this wrong."

"I could lose my job for talking to you."
 

"I won't reveal your name."
 

"They'll know," he said. "Even if you keep me anonymous, my boss will figure it out. They're not stupid. And you managed to figure it out."
 

She had stumbled on his identity, but he didn’t need to know that. “Well, I’ve been doing this for a while,” she said. "I'll protect you."
 

He gave her a smile that demonstrated no confidence in that promise. "I'm two years from retirement and I really don't want to lose my job, Ms. Fox. I only sent you those papers because I just couldn't live with myself if I kept silent about what was really going on."
 

"Maybe if we could meet someplace, the library or—"
 

"I cannot be seen with you!" He was insistent on that point.
 

She sighed. "Fine. How about we set up a way to communicate secretly? Then if I have questions, I can get in touch with you without anyone knowing."

Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, Lyle’s eyebrows drew together. "Like a signal? A plant on the balcony? That sort of thing?"

So she wasn't the only one to have studied Watergate. "Sure. I don't have a balcony, though."

"You could put an ad in the classifieds."
 

"Yeah, I guess that would work. Then you could call me," Lindsey said. "I could put in an ad for a missing dog. The ad will be for a lost dog named Steve, all right?"
 

Lyle rubbed a handkerchief across his head. "Fine, lost dog named Steve. I'll contact you after I see the ad. As soon as I can. As soon as it's safe. But please don't call me. These people, they're powerful and they're willing to do anything to make this deal go through."
 

Lindsey stared at him, trying to keep her expression neutral, but feeling the ground shift beneath her feet. Was he being haunted by a bike messenger or a black SUV also?
 

"Did someone threaten you? Are you being harassed?"
 

Lyle shook his head and gave her a sad and worried look. "Just be careful."

She found herself back in the hallway, still unsure which way to go, but confident that she was getting closer to saving her job.

Chapter Thirteen

In hushed tones in the law firm's break room, Ben updated Dave on the situation with Lindsey.
 

"Kathleen is furious that the newspaper isn't doing more to protect her," Dave said. "She's very protective of Lindsey."

"Lindsey can take care of herself. Trust me," Ben said. He could still feel the sting of the pepper spray when he thought of that night.

Dave grinned. "Against one lawyer, sure. But not against the bullies she's up against on this story."

"I need to figure out how I can help her," Ben said.
 

A paralegal from the litigation team wandered into the break room and greeted the two attorneys. Ben and Dave paused until he left to resume their conversation.
 

"What can I do?" Dave said.
 

"I have a license plate number from the SUV. Know anyone who can run it?"

"Not legally."

Ben raised an eyebrow. That wasn't a no. He waited for Dave to continue.
 

"I know someone who may know someone," Dave said, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a card. "We went to law school together. He's a stand-up guy and a damn good lawyer. He won't do anything illegal, but he may be able to point you in the direction of someone who is willing to bend the rules. Drop my name.”

Ben smiled. "Thanks," he said, reading the card. "Jude Fields. The criminal defense attorney?"

Dave nodded. "You know him?"

"Only by reputation," Ben said. That reputation being that Jude Fields was the best defense attorney in the city—hardworking, dedicated and successful. Also, intensely private, avoiding all media attention no matter how high profile the case.
 

“He’ll know your name,” Dave said.

Ben shook his head. He’d spent seven years toiling without credit at Stanton & Lowe. “I doubt that.”
 

Dave laughed. “No, I’ve mentioned you to him before. He’s a good guy. If he can help you, he will. Good luck."

An hour later, Ben stood on the sidewalk looking at a tall Victorian building that appeared to have been wedged between two office buildings. There was a scant ten feet of clearance on either side of the old house, which had been converted to office space for the Fields Law Group. A cobblestone path curved through a tidy yard, shaded by a large oak tree. A row of flowers and a trimmed hedge bordered the path. The historic house stood in stark contrast to the buildings on either side—a drab county office seemingly designed by Soviet-era architects and a bail bonds office with the flashing sign promising to "Get Him Home Now."
 

Ben made his way up the stairs to the front door. He’d parked at the courthouse and walked the two blocks to the law firm, but was still early for the appointment with Jude Fields. The door flew open as he reached for it and a young woman with short, dark blue hair gave him a suspicious look, though that could have been the effect of her heavy eye makeup.
 

"Mr. Sterns?"
 

"No, Ben Gillespie," he replied, extending his hand.
 

She took it, still suspicious. "You're not our new client?"

"No, not yet," Ben said with a smile. "I'm here to meet Jude Fields. Ben Gillespie."
 

The young woman rolled her eyes and sighed, then walked to a heavy oak door and slid it open, revealing a room that had probably been a parlor when the house was still a residence.
 

"You know," she said, leaning into the room, "I can only keep track of your schedule if you tell me about the appointments you make."

"Sorry, Tasha. Is Ben Gillespie here?"

The woman turned away, her multiple silver earrings swaying with the movement, and motioned Ben toward the door. "He's all yours."

Ben entered the bright room and heard the receptionist slide the pocket door partially shut behind him. The windows to his right overlooked the courtyard. On the opposite side of the room was a massive desk at which sat an equally massive man, who stood to greet Ben.
 

"Jude Fields," he said, extending his hand.
 

"Thanks for meeting with me," Ben said, shaking Jude's hand.
 

"Anything for Dave. We got each other through law school and the bar exam," Jude said with a smile. "How can I help you?"
 

He’d seen the man in the courthouse before, but hadn't realized that the man striding through the halls was Jude Fields. He'd heard the name many times—everyone in the legal community had. But Jude kept a low profile, didn't do media interviews. Because his reputation was so widespread, Ben had always imagined someone flashier. And older. This man was in his late thirties. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up and his tie was draped over the chair next to the desk. Despite the casual appearance, he had an air of quiet authority about him.
 

The desk was piled high with green folders, yellow legal pads, and assorted papers. In the middle of the clutter was a gleaming new computer. The box for the computer sat next to the desk, styrofoam packing materials surrounding it. The latest state-of-the-art Mac computer looked out of place among the clutter on the battered antique desk.