Gray Mountain (38 page)

After three months in Brady, Samantha felt liberated in the city. She shopped with her mother in midtown, battling the crowds but enjoying the frenetic energy. She had late afternoon drinks with friends in all the right, trendy bars, and, while enjoying the scene, found herself bored with the conversation. Careers, real estate, and the Great Recession. Karen sprang for two tickets to a Broadway musical, a rage that was nothing more than a made-for-tourists rip-off. They left at intermission and got a table at Orso. Samantha had brunch with an old Georgetown pal at Balthazar, where the friend almost squealed as she pointed out a famous TV actor Samantha had never seen nor heard of. She took long, solitary walks through
lower Manhattan. Christmas dinner was a feast at the Fifth Avenue apartment with a bunch of strangers, though after a lot of wine the conversation loosened up and an ordeal became a riot that went on for hours. Samantha slept in a spare bedroom, one bigger than her apartment, and woke up with a mild hangover. A uniformed maid brought her orange juice, coffee, and ibuprofen. She had lunch with Henry, who had been pestering her, and realized they had nothing in common. He was assuming she would be back in the city in the near future and was eager to rekindle something. She tried to explain that she wasn’t sure when she would return. There was no job waiting for her, and now no apartment. Her future was uncertain, as was his. He’d given up on acting and was considering an entry into the exciting world of hedge fund management. An odd choice these days, she thought. Aren’t those guys bleeding cash and dodging indictments? His undergraduate degree from Cornell was in Arabic. He was headed to nowhere and she would not waste another minute with him.

Two days after Christmas, she was sitting in a coffee bar in SoHo when a phone buzzed. At first she didn’t recognize the noise deep in her purse, then realized it was the prepaid phone Jeff had given her. She found it just in time and said hello. “Happy New Year,” he said. “Where are you?”

“Same to you. I’m in the city. Where are you?”

“In the city. I’d like to see you. Got time for some coffee?”

For a moment, she thought he was joking. She couldn’t imagine Jeff Gray walking the streets of Manhattan, but then, why not? The city attracted all types from everywhere. “Sure, in fact I’m having coffee right now. Alone.”

“What’s the address?”

While she waited, she became amused at her thought process. Her initial reaction was one of surprise, which was immediately followed by one of pure lust. How could she get him into her apartment and avoid Blythe? Not that Blythe would really care, but she didn’t want a lot of questions. Where was he staying? A nice hotel; that would work. Was he alone? Or sharing a room with a friend?

Settle down girl, she told herself. He walked in twenty minutes later and they kissed on the lips. As they waited on double espressos, she asked him the obvious. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been here before,” he said. “I’m moving around these days, and I wanted to see you.”

“A call would’ve been nice.” Faded jeans, black T-shirt, wool sports coat, chukka boots, three days’ growth, hair just slightly untamed. He was definitely not one of the Wall Street clones, but in SoHo no one would suspect him of being from backwater Appalachia. And who would care? In reality, he looked more like an unemployed actor than Henry.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Okay. I’m surprised. How did you get here?”

“A private jet. It’s a long story.”

“I’m so tired of long stories. Where are you staying?”

“The Hilton, midtown. Alone. Where are you staying?”

“My apartment, for a few more days anyway. Then the lease is up.”

The barista said their coffee was ready and Jeff grabbed the two cups. He poured in a pack of sugar and stirred slowly. She passed on the sugar. They huddled closer together as the coffee bar became crowded. She said, “So, can we get back to this private jet matter. Care to elaborate?”

“I’m here for two reasons. First, I want to see you and maybe spend a little time together. Perhaps we could hike, you know, around the city and then find a fireplace somewhere. If not, maybe just a nice warm bed. That’s what I’d like, but I understand if you’re too busy. I’m not crashing your private time, okay?”

“You can forget the fireplace.”

“Got it. I’m available from this moment on.”

“I’m sure we’ll find time. And what about the other reason?”

“Well, the jet is owned by a trial lawyer named Jarrett London, from Louisville. You may have heard of him by now.”

“And how would I know a lawyer from Louisville?”

“Anyway, he and Donovan were very close, in fact Jarrett was at the funeral. Tall guy, about sixty, with long gray hair and a
salt-and-pepper beard. Donovan considered him to be his mentor, almost his hero. His law firm is one of the other three who sued Krull Mining in the Hammer Valley case. They got raided the same day the FBI raided our office. Needless to say, a guy like London doesn’t appreciate such Gestapo tactics, and he’s spitting fire. Big ego, typical of the breed.”

She was nodding. “My father.”

“Yes, of course. In fact, London says he met your father years ago at some trial lawyer shindig. Anyway, London has a new girlfriend, a real dingbat, and she wanted to see the city. I hitched a ride.”

“How convenient.”

“He also wants to meet you, say hello, and talk about the documents.”

“What documents? Come on, Jeff, I’m already in too deep. Where is this going?”

“You gotta help me here, Samantha. My brother is gone and I need someone to talk to, someone who knows the law and can give me advice.”

Her spine stiffened and she pulled back. She glared at him and wanted to lash out. Instead, she glanced around, swallowed hard, and said, “You are deliberately sucking me into a conspiracy that can land me in serious trouble. The FBI is all over this, yet you want me to get involved. You’re as reckless as your brother and you don’t care what happens to me. Look, who says I’m even going back to Brady, Virginia? I feel incredibly safe right now. This is my home; it’s where I belong.”

His lanky frame seemed to shrink by inches as his chin dropped. He looked lost and helpless. “I do care about you, Samantha, and I care what happens to you. I just need help right now.”

“Jeff, we had a wonderful time a couple of weeks ago at Gray Mountain. I’ve thought about it a lot, but what I don’t understand is why you took me to that cave, or whatever the hell it’s called, and showed me the documents. At that—”

“No one will ever know.”

“At that point I became an accessory of some sort. I realize the
documents are valuable and damaging and all that, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re stolen.”

“Someone has to know where they are, Samantha, in case something happens to me.”

“Let Vic handle it.”

“I told you. Vic is gone, checked out. His girlfriend is pregnant and he’s a changed man. He’s not risking anything. He will not answer the phone.”

“He’s smart.”

The espresso was getting cold. Jeff noticed his and took a sip. Samantha ignored him and studied the crowd. Finally, Jeff said, “Can we get out of here?”

They found a bench in Washington Square Park. All the benches were empty because the wind was howling and the temperature was just below freezing. “How much does this London guy know about me?” she asked.

“He knows you have the Ryzer case, at least the black lung part. He knows you discovered the fraud and cover-up by the lawyers for Lonerock Coal. He’s really impressed by that. He knows that I trust you and that Donovan trusted you. He knows that Donovan told you about the documents.”

“Does he know I’ve seen them?”

“No. I told you, Samantha, no one will ever know that. I was wrong to take you there.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s at least meet with the guy and see what he says. Please. There’s no harm in that, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do know. There is nothing even remotely out-of-bounds in meeting with Jarrett London. It will be extremely confidential, plus he’s an interesting guy.”

“When does he want to meet?”

“I’ll call him. I’m freezing. Do you live around here?”

“Not far, but the apartment is a mess. We’re packing up.”

“I don’t care.”

T
wo hours later, Samantha walked into the lobby of the Peninsula hotel on Fifty-Fifth Street in midtown. She took the stairs to her left, climbed one floor, and saw Jeff sitting at the bar, as expected. Without a word, he handed her a scrap of paper with the message “Room 1926.” He watched her turn around and leave, then stood by the stairs to see if anyone else noticed. She took the elevator to the nineteenth floor and pressed the buzzer to the room. A tall man with far too much gray hair opened the door within seconds and said, “Hello, Ms. Kofer, it’s an honor. I’m Jarrett London.”

Number 1926 was a huge suite with an entire den at one end. There was no sign of the girlfriend. Minutes after Samantha arrived, Jeff buzzed the door. They sat in the den and went through the required pleasantries. London mentioned something to drink, but everyone declined. He brought up her work in the Ryzer case and gushed on about how brilliant it was. He and Donovan had discussed it at length. London and his partners were still debating whether their firm should jump in the lawsuit with Donovan when he went ahead and filed the damned thing. “Much too premature,” London said. “But then, that was Donovan.”

He, London, was still considering the litigation. It’s not every day you catch a major law firm like Casper Slate committing fraud red-handed, you know? The case could have enormous jury appeal, and so on. He went on and on about the beauty of the case, as if Samantha had never realized this. She’d heard it before, from Donovan and from her father. Now, on to Krull Mining. With Donovan out of the picture, London was now lead counsel for the plaintiffs. The lawsuit had been filed on October 29. Krull had been granted additional time to respond and file an answer. In early January, London and his team were expecting Krull to file a serious motion to dismiss, and the war would commence at full throttle. Soon, very soon, they would need the documents.

“How much do you know about them?” Samantha asked.

London exhaled loudly, as if the question was so loaded he had no idea where to begin, then he stood and walked to the minibar. “Beer, anyone?” Jeff and Samantha declined, again. He opened a Heineken and walked to a window. He took a long swig and said, “About a year ago, we had our first meeting, in Charleston, offices of Gordie Mace, one of our gang. Donovan had summoned all of us there to pitch the Hammer Valley lawsuit. He said he had possession of some documents, and the possession had not come about through the usual methods. We didn’t ask; he didn’t offer. Said there were over twenty thousand pages of highly incriminating stuff. Krull Mining knew about the contamination, knew it was leaking into the groundwater up and down the valley, knew people were still drinking the water, knew people were suffering and dying, knew it should clean up the site, but also knew it was less expensive to just screw the people and keep the money. He did not have the documents with him, but he had extensive notes, notes he destroyed after the meeting. He described about twenty of the documents, the most damaging ones, and, frankly, we were blown away. Stunned. Outraged. We signed on immediately and geared up for the lawsuit. Donovan was careful not to refer to the documents as stolen, and he kept them away from us. If he had given us the documents at any point during the past year, all of us, in all likelihood, would have been arrested earlier this month by the FBI.”

“So how do you take possession of the documents now and avoid being arrested?” she asked.

“That’s the great question. We’re having indirect talks with one of the trial judge’s law clerks, real back-channel stuff that’s highly sensitive and highly unusual. We think we’ll be able to take the documents, immediately tender them to the court, and have them locked away by the judge. We will then ask him to lean on the U.S. Attorney to back off the criminal investigation until the documents are reviewed. Let’s face it, the person who stole the documents is dead. We’ve consulted with our criminal defense attorneys, and they agree that our exposure will be minimal. We are willing to take the risks. The danger is what might happen to
the documents before they reach the court. Krull Mining will do anything to destroy them, and right now they have the FBI on their side. It’s dangerous out there.”

Samantha gave Jeff a look that could kill.

London sat near Samantha and looked deep into her eyes. “We could use some help in Washington.”

“Uh, I’m sorry.”

“The Attorney General has three people in his inner circle. One is Leonna Kent. I’m sure you know her.”

Reeling, Samantha said, “I’ve, uh, met her years back.”

“She and your mother started at Justice at the same time, thirty years ago. Your mother is highly regarded and has seniority. She also has some pull.”

“But not in areas like this.”

“Oh, yes, Samantha. A word or two from Karen Kofer to Leonna Kent, and from Leonna Kent to the Attorney General, and from the AG to the U.S. Attorney in Kentucky, and we could see the FBI back off. That would leave us with only the Krull thugs to worry about.”