Foreclosure: A Novel (4 page)

“Who the hell pays that kind of money for a guitar and doesn’t even play it?” Lana had asked the day she moved out. He conceded it was a good question.

He returned the guitar to the stand on the fireplace mantle, its new home ever since she’d left. Then, he reached for his BlackBerry on the end table to make sure what had happened last night was no dream. He skimmed the pics of Alton and Mackenzie and emailed them to his personal account. He hoped he’d be able to put them to good use, very soon.

The instant he hit send, the BlackBerry rang—the same ring that had given him a panic attack last night when he’d been playing voyeur outside Mackenzie’s office. He recognized the prefix as a Hollis & Alderman number, but who the hell would be calling on New Year’s? He hit the answer button but didn’t speak.

“I need to see you.” It was Alton.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

David could sense Alton’s nervousness. “What on earth for?”
 

“It would be better if we spoke in person about this. It won’t take long.” Alton hung up.

Standing up was a painful reminder of the red-wine hangover he’d woken up with today. He promised himself he would not try to figure out what Alton might want because the possibilities were endless, though he was pretty sure what this was all about. So, he grabbed the Advil bottle and looked for his pants.

“Happy New Year,” David said as he scooted his way into Alton’s office. His legs froze in place when he saw Mackenzie seated facing Alton’s desk, her legs glistening from a fresh wax.

Alton turned around from his computer. “Have a seat.”

David sat next to Mackenzie, who was still typing an email on her BlackBerry and hadn’t made eye contact.

Alton began his spiel in a manner painfully reminiscent of David’s review yesterday. “Mackenzie and I were talking about a few opportunities we thought we should get you involved with. As we said yesterday, we’re not going to leave you to this alone.”

“What kind of opportunities?” David asked.

Alton waved his finger, a polite gesture requesting patience, and then glanced in Mackenzie’s direction before looking back to David. “We apparently had some sort of security breach last night. After receiving the call, I came by to check it out. I found nothing, but I noticed your light was still on.” Alton looked David dead in the eyes. “Were you here after hours last night?”

David nodded slowly. “I had to finish a report for Blake Hubert.” David waited, returning Alton’s attentive glare. “I was out of here before eleven,” he lied. “I didn’t see anything suspicious.”

“He didn’t see anything suspicious,” Alton repeated to Mackenzie. She rolled her eyes and resumed typing on her BlackBerry.

Alton cleared his throat. “Well, if you remember anything, be sure to let me know.”

David nodded. “Sure thing, Alton.”

Alton leaned back a few degrees with an almost postcoital relief. “With that said, I want to make sure we’re all on the same page. Despite our decision yesterday, David, we want to make sure you’re happy.”

“I haven’t been happy in a while, Alton. In fact, I guess you could say I got the blues.”

Alton shared a flurry of glances between David and Mackenzie. “We’d like to change that.”

David gripped his BlackBerry. With a few clicks, he could steer this conversation in an entirely different direction, but he decided he’d hear them out first. “I’m all ears.”

Alton smiled and said, “I’ll let Mackenzie explain.”

She took her time finishing the email, smirking as though she enjoyed making them wait. After a few climactic punches of keys, she pulled a brochure off Alton’s desk and handed it to David. David skimmed through it, a promotional brochure with a few glossy pages featuring biographies of attorneys in the firm. David’s photo and a blurb about his experience appeared on the second page.

“We’re making a pitch,” Mackenzie said.

“To whom?” David asked.

“Meridian Bank.”

“Meridian Bank of Miami?”

“That’s the only one I know of,” she said. “With Justin Baxter going in-house there, we thought this would be a prime time to approach them.”

“We’re confident he will funnel some work our way,” Alton added. “You seem like the ideal person to lead the litigation pitch, given your friendship with Justin.”

David remembered the last time he’d seen his old buddy Justin Baxter: keeled over on a sidewalk outside a tapas bar in Miami. With a bloodied face. And more blood on David’s hands and oxford. Right after David had found Justin on a date with Lana. They’d been feeding each other ceviche and sipping red sangria. David had put two and two together, and realized Lana had moved out because Justin was going in-house. At Meridian Bank of Miami. How perfect.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Mackenzie asked.

David wanted to tell her he was checking the Miami-Dade County records online every day to make sure there was no warrant for his arrest. Instead, he said, “I don’t know that he was happy with the firm when he left.”

“I can assure you Justin was very happy when he left us,” Alton said. “No question about it.”

So they canned him after all
, David thought. “He didn’t mention that to me.”

“He was contractually bound not to,” Mackenzie explained.

“We’re planning a meet n’ greet next week. We want you there.” Alton squinted at David to make sure he was on board.

David sighed. “Any other opportunities?”

Alton looked at him blankly for a moment. “Yes. Of course. I want you to join me for a round of golf with the heads of an investment firm passing through town in a few weeks. There’s potential for a lot of litigation work.”

Great
, David thought.
A golf outing with two investment bankers. Really fucking great
.

David took the scenic drive home along Beach Boulevard with all its high-rises and beachfront bars, some of which he hoped might be open today. A pale ale would hit the spot—not only cure his red-wine headache, but maybe also provide a little wisdom and motivation for the career-development planning that lay ahead. The notion that his future may be riding on pitching work to Justin Baxter and a couple of investment bankers on a golf course did not sit well. David wished he knew when the hell O’Reilly would return and put him out of his misery.

He slowed the Saab as he approached Gaspar Towers. A toned couple jogged along the sidewalk past the retail space adjoining the twin towers. David slowed nearly to a halt and caught a glimpse of an enormous specimen who could pass for a retired linebacker blocking the entrance to the sales office. At first, David wondered whether the beast was some kind of construction worker, but then he caught a glimpse of Katherine holding the door open for the man.

Rather than wonder about what he’d just seen, David zipped into the first parking spot he came to, which turned out to be the same spot he’d parked in yesterday evening. As he exited the car, he looked over both shoulders just in case Ed Savage was out and about today. When he was sure the coast was clear, he trotted across Beach Boulevard toward the sales office.

A moment later, he stared through the tinted glass door to the office. The linebacker stood in front of Katherine’s desk, flailing his arms back and forth. Whatever he was saying, it was either damned important or he was the most dramatic linebacker David had ever seen. David couldn’t tell whether Katherine was seated at her desk, so he opened the door to get a better look. The doorbell chimed.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed today.” David still couldn’t see her, but he knew the voice was Katherine’s. Dick Butkus slowly turned at the sound of David’s voice. He stepped aside just enough to allow David to get his first look at Katherine. She lobbed an indifferent glance in David’s direction. The linebacker shook his head at her and whispered something. Then she covered her face with her hands and muttered something, all the while shaking her head.

The linebacker turned to leave. He wore a tight polo and designer jeans with canvas loafers. He had the lats and deltoids of someone who spent an hour a day in the gym—and did so not to look good for the beach, but because he liked to crack skulls. David stepped aside to give him a clear exit. As he passed, David noticed that the man’s left eye was a cloudy amalgam of gray and blue. He nodded at David and opened the door.

David didn’t nod back. He walked to Katherine’s desk and waited for her to say something. When she stayed quiet, he asked, “So you miss your flight or something?”

“I decided not to go.”

“Why?”

“Why do you care?”

Nothing about her seemed remotely like the woman David had dined with the night before. She now seemed on edge and indifferent, and her eyes were red and glassy, as though she’d been crying all morning.

“What’s wrong, Katherine?”

Something gave and she let out a deep breath. “I got some bad news this morning.”

“So you came to work on New Year’s?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“That guy say so?”

She shook her head. “He’s just another headache.”

“Who is he?”

Katherine was still shaking her head. She studied David for a moment, apparently searching for composure. “You said you’re a lawyer?”

He nodded.

“Know anything about criminal law?”

“What’s wrong, Katherine?”

“I don’t know. I can’t talk about it. But I need—”

“Who was he?” he whispered.

She raised her finger to hush him. The phone rang. She grabbed the receiver. “Yes,” she muttered emphatically. Then she leaned forward and cupped her hand to shield her conversation from David. “I don’t care. Tell him I missed my flight and I’m sick.” She nodded. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.” She started to hang up, but listened a moment longer. “I know. I’ll deal with it.”

She hung up and sighed.

David leaned over her desk. “Why do you need a criminal lawyer, Katherine?”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I was driving by, thought I saw you, and got worried. Is that okay?”

She ignored him.

“Where’s O’Reilly?”

“You know, I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

“So you choose, him or me.”

“You’re not really going to make me choose, are you?”

She crossed her arms and nodded.

“I’m sorry, Katherine. But I
need
this.”

For an instant, he thought about trying to explain it to her, but he quickly dismissed that as wishful thinking. He could not explain it to himself if he tried, as least in a way that would withstand any modicum of scrutiny.

She studied him for a long moment, up and down. Then she nodded again, so be it, and slowly smiled. If there was any empathy in her gaze, it was waning with the setting sun. “As you wish. He’ll be at a reception Thursday at the Hilton. Come by and I’ll introduce you.”

“What time?”

“Seven.” She stood to walk him out. “You have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

The Hilton lobby was crawling with douche bags David could picture sitting on various boards of directors with Alton Holloway. He imagined them all chatting it up on the links and knocking off early for an afternoon of fun and business at the strip club. Tonight they were all milling about the lobby, wearing Bluetooth earpieces, sipping martinis, their sports coats a size too small, most of them probably carrying an STD or two. There were lots of local lawyers there, too. David didn’t expect such competition at a Gaspar County Builders Association meeting. He found the check-in desk outside the conference-room wing.

An attendant with long auburn hair wearing a navy business suit greeted him with a lukewarm smile. “Are you here for the bar association or the builders association?”

The sign behind her announced meetings for both the Gaspar County Builders Association and the Gaspar County Bar Association. The latter explained all the lawyers. He would have to be careful to avoid running into anyone he didn’t want to see, which included just about any lawyer. “The Builders Association,” he said. “David Friedman. I’m a late registrant.”

“Hmm. I had you pegged as a lawyer.”

He took his nametag. “I wish I could take that as a compliment.”

A minute later, he entered a sprawling ballroom large enough to hold five hundred people. The few dozen early arrivals looked lost in the enormity of the space. Desperate to take the edge off, he made a beeline for the bar in the rear of the room. The bartender informed him that only beer and wine were available—no doubt another sign of the recession. He would have to settle for a Heineken.

Ten minutes and three beers later, having achieved some semblance of a buzz, David scanned the ballroom for familiar faces or potential leads. He saw neither. He wondered whether any of the recent arrivals could be Frank O’Reilly. They all looked the same: big strong men with money, or the appearance of money, all wearing a shiny watch on one arm and a glowing blonde wife on the other. But none resembled the few photos of O’Reilly that David had managed to find on the web.

“Quite a scene, isn’t it?”

David turned toward the familiar voice and saw a pudgy face he hadn’t seen since law school. “Sonny?” David remembered Sonny Kendrick as a good-enough guy with mediocre grades who’d somehow landed the highest paying job in Tampa. He looked to have packed on some weight and lost some hair, but he still had the same boyish charm that had made him popular among the stressed-out coeds during exam time. “What brings you down here?”

Sonny gripped his own sweaty bottle of beer. “I was in court today out this way.” His accent turned redneck. “Good ol’ Gaspar County.”

“Anything good?”

“Just a motion to withdraw.”

David’s ears perked up. “You don’t say. You know, the bar association meeting is next door.”

“I know. I’m here because I have to deliver something to my client, or former client.”

David cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t by any chance be Frank O’Reilly, would it?”

“You know him?”