Look Closely (28 page)

“Hailey,” Beth said from behind me. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Right. Thanks.” But I remained motionless. I knew that house. “Who took these pictures?”

“Sean McKnight had them commissioned years ago, I think. Some kind of ego stroke.”

“Ego stroke?” I kept staring at the photo of the house, mental y fil ing in the picture with a figure standing at the corner of the deck. A basebal hat, an orange windbreaker, binoculars held up to the person’s face. And the binoculars pointed toward the lake, toward the beach, right at me.

“That’s Sean’s summerhouse,” Beth said. I heard the tinkling of a spoon against a china cup.

“And this house is where?” I said. I knew the answer, yet I needed to hear it.

“Woodland Dunes.”

I swung around to face her, my hands clasped behind my back to stop them from trembling. “Why did you hire me, Beth?”

She looked up at me over her coffee cup, surprised. “Because you were supposed to be the best in terms of cyber law.”

“Wel , how did you find me? Was it the American Bar Association article?”

“No, your firm sent that to us after we cal ed about you. It was Sean who recommended you. Actual y, he was pretty emphatic that he wanted you.”

I took a deep breath to ease the tightness growing in my chest. “And how did Sean know about me?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said, tapping a finger on her chin. “I real y don’t know.”

* * *

I sat in the back of a cab going north on Lake Shore Drive, heading for my meeting with Eden Fieldings at the Fieldings family house in Evanston. Through the smeared, grimy window, I stared at the lake, a frothy light blue today, the wind whipping it into meringuelike peaks. But in my head, I was on the other side of the lake, seeing that white, monolithic house, that person in the orange jacket watching me through binoculars. That was the first day I had felt as if someone was fol owing me, studying me.

Had it been Sean McKnight? Had it been him the whole time?

I had gone to his office when I finished my meeting with Beth, but he wasn’t in, his secretary said, wouldn’t be in until this afternoon. And that was fine, I decided, because it couldn’t have been him. I’d had that feeling of being watched in Portland, after al , and with that car in New Mexico. I couldn’timaginethatSeanMcKnight,theCEOof a large company, would have time to tail me, or have reason to hire someone to do so. Why would he?

Why? It brought me back to that other question—why had Sean wanted to hire me? Did he know my family from when we lived in Woodland Dunes? The thought came to me that he had been the man my mom was dating, but I couldn’t believe that. He was sharp and mean, rude and unfeeling. My mother would never go for someone like that. Yet what did I know? I barely knew her.

The cab swung to the left onto Sheridan Road, and eventual y turned into a short brick driveway, approaching a white wedding cake of a house. It had huge, twisted white columns and balconies from every room on the second floor. A fountain in front sent arcs of sparkling water into the air.

I asked the cabbie to wait, hoping that my meeting would take no longer than half an hour, and I headed for the front door. It was opened by a maid, who said very little as she showed me into a parlor off the front foyer. She disappeared for a minute and returned with a tray of tea and cookies, which she set on a low table. The room was pleasant, with a yel ow porcelain-tiled fireplace at one end and pastel-colored Orientals on the floor. Works of the Impressionists, some of which looked suspiciously like originals, lined the wal s.

A woman, who appeared in her late forties, strode into the parlor. She had short brown hair, and she wore a brown pantsuit, looking at odds with the light colors fil ing the rest of the room.

“Hailey Sutter, I presume,” she said, stretching out her hand.

I rose and shook it, trying not to flinch at the force of her grip. “You must be Eden Fieldings. Thank you for meeting with me.”

She sighed and said nothing. The deeply etched lines around her eyes and mouth made her seem permanently tired, eternal y unhappy.

Webothtookourseats.Edengesturedwordlessly toward the tea tray, as if to say, “Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’l get right to the point. I’m representing McKnight Corporation.”

“Yes, so I heard,” she said in a dry tone.

I cleared my throat, then busied myself with taking a legal pad out of my briefcase. “I’m here because I’d like to find out anything I can about the takeover of your company by McKnight Corporation.”

She swal owed; she looked down, as if she was trying to hold something back. “What do you want to know?”

“First off, I’d like to know if you’ve been contacted by Evan Lamey, or someone from his office. He’s theplaintiff’s attorney onthis case, and he—”

“I know who he is,” Eden said, inflectionless.

“I take it to mean that he’s tried to reach your family.”

“Yes, but we’ve refused to see him.”

“I see.” But I didn’t. “If I may ask, then why are you meeting with me?”

Eden began tapping the toe of her pointy suede pump. I had the feeling that she didn’t even know she was doing it. “My father insisted.”

“Your father? Walter Fieldings? My secretary said that you’d given her the impression he was rather aged and incapacitated.”

Eden glanced over her shoulder toward the open doorway of the parlor. For a moment, she looked like a guilty schoolgirl. “My dad has had a number of medical problems over the years. I run the business now.” She laughed, a sudden, caustic laugh. “Not real y a business, actual y, but I manage our holdings.”

“Wel , I’m sure that’s very time-consuming.” It came out condescendingly, which I hadn’t intended, but Eden caught it.

She straightened up and gave me a hard look. “You’ve got five minutes. What do you want to know?”

Now what I real y wanted to know was why Walter Fieldings had asked his daughter to meet me. But it was more important to learn the facts of the previous takeover, in case Lamey was able to get them from some other means. Despite everything else, I had a trial coming up.

“What I’m primarily interested in,” I said, “are the events that led to your family sel ing your business to McKnight. As I’m sure you know, there have been vague al egations that there was some impropriety that caused your family to sel .”

“Yes,
vague
al egations,” she said. Was she mimicking me?

“Can you tel me how the decision was made?”

“I was only in my twenties then. I wasn’t an integralpartofthedecision-makingprocess,butitwas a family matter, so we al discussed it. And McKnight twisted our arm, so to speak, until it broke.”

“Can you be more specific?”

Eden made that caustic laugh again but stayed silent.

I decided to back up for a second, and ask the question I couldn’t shake. “Can you tel me why your father wanted you to meet with me?”

She blinked a few times. She looked less angry, less sure of herself. Leaning over, she poured tea into a delicate white cup. “He’s gotten sentimental these last few years. It was something to do with your name.”

“My name?”

“Yes. Your last name.”

Just then an elderly man in a golf shirt and khaki pants came into the room. He used a walking stick made of old, gnarled wood. “May I interrupt?” he said.

“Oh, Dad,” Eden said. “You’re supposed to be sitting down.”

He ignored her. He walked into the room slowly, making good use of the walking stick, each step a labor of movement. And yet the whole time, his gray eyes never left mine.

“You are Hailey Sutter?” he said.

“Yes.” I stood to meet him and offered my hand.

It took a long time for him to reach me, and I began to feel awkward, standing with my arm out. Final y, he took my hand in his. It was large, probably once a strong hand, and yet now it felt papery and soft. “I’m Walter Fieldings,” he said. He had a head ful of thick gray hair that contrasted with his heavily wrinkled face and the frail stoop of his shoulders.

“Dad, here,” Eden said, pushing her chair toward him. Once he sat, she took a seat on the couch. “Ms. Sutter and I were just talking about McKnight Corporation, but I know this is a tough subject for you. Why don’t you let me finish this, then we’l have lunch?”

“I was just trying to find out exactly what happened when McKnight took over your company,” I said, sitting again. “From what I understand, there was some early disagreement, but you decided to sel , is that right?”

Mr. Fieldings smiled. “In its most rudimentary form, that is what happened.”

“Can you tel me the not-so-rudimentary version?”

“Dad,” Eden said. Just that one word. A word of caution.

Mr. Fieldings glanced in the direction of his daughter, but seemed not to see her. “How do you spel your last name?” he asked me.

“Sutter. S-U-T-T-E-R.”

“And your family? Where are they from?”

The question threw me. I paused for a moment. “We’refrom…Wel ,we’refromal over.Myfather and I have lived in NewYork for many years now.”

“I see,” Mr. Fielding said. “And your father’s name?”

That tightness in my chest that I felt this morning came back. “Wil iam Sutter,” I said, my voice coming out low.

“And he goes by Wil , does he?”

“Do you know my father?”

“Yes,” Mr. Fielding said. “I knew him once. I’m surprised you didn’t ask him about the McKnight takeover.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your father was our attorney.”

I’dheardwrong.IwassureI’dheardhimwrong.

“Dad,” Eden said again in that warning tone.

“Your father,” Mr. Fieldings said, leaning forward in his chair, his right hand stil gripped tight to that stick. “Your father is the reason I lost my company.”

No more than ten seconds of silence could have passed, but to me it was an eternity.
Crazy old man.
That was my first thought. He had to be mistaken. But then the doubt and the anger rushed in, adding to the already long list of emotions about my father. Something else he’d kept from me, apparently, probably hoping desperately that I wouldn’t dig too far into the McKnight case.

My throat felt parched, my mouth too dry to talk. I moved forward in my chair to pour a cup of tea, spil ing my legal pad from my lap in the process. “Sorry,” I said. “Excuse me.”

By the time I picked up the pad and retrieved my pen from under my chair, Mr. Fieldings had poured me a cup of tea, which he offered to me on a saucer. I mumbled a word of thanks as I took it and sipped. Itwasasmokyblacktea.Exoticandforeign-tasting.

“I wasn’t aware my father represented you,” I said. “Are you sure it was him? The name isn’t that uncommon.”

“He’s with Gardner, State & Lord?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s the same Wil Sutter. Of course, this was a long time ago, twenty-some years ago now.”

I took another sip of tea, the cup clattering as I set it back on the saucer.
Calm down.
So what if my father had represented Fieldings? So what if he hadn’t told me? I didn’t know al of his past cases.

What would be the point? I glanced at Eden on the couch, who was watching her own father with a strange look, a mix of fear and anticipation.

“Mr. Fieldings,” I said, my voice stronger now. “I take it from your comment that you weren’t happy with my father’s representation.”

“Not happy?” he said. “Maybe you didn’t hear me correctly. Your father is the reason I lost my company. He gave confidential information to that bastard McKnight. And your client then blackmailed me with it.”

“Dad!” Eden said. She got up from the couch. “I think that’s enough.”

“Sit down, Eden!” He said this as if he was scolding a dog. “I’ve kept quiet long enough. I want to get this out before I die. And you don’t know what I’m talking about anyway.”

Edenwassilent.Sheslumpedbackonthecouch.

“I am quite sure that my father would never give away privileged information,” I said. “You must be mistaken.”

“How old are you?” Mr. Fieldings said.

“Almost thirty.” My birthday was five months away. I sounded like a toddler who says they’re “three and a half.”

“Wil Sutter represented me twenty-two years ago. I highly doubt that you know anything about it. Shal I tel you what happened? I find it ironic that you’re representing McKnight now, although maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. For al I know, your father was in his employ the whole time. Either way, you should know what I have to tel you.”

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying. Twenty-two years ago, I kept thinking. The year my mother died. “I don’t think my father has even met Sean McKnight,” I managed to say, but it came out weak, unsure.

Mr. Fieldings chuckled. “I can assure you, my dear. They knew each other wel enough.”

Hestartedtotalkthen.Heleanedforwardonhis

walking

stick

to

make

a

point,

never

even

glancingathisdaughter,whoseemedasshockedasIdid

byhistale.Itoccurredtomethatshemightbehearing this story, most of it anyway, for the first time.

According to Walter Fieldings, my father had been hired to represent them against a takeover bid from McKnight Corporation. Mr. Fieldings had started his company, he said, and the family had decided long ago that it would never become publicly held, it would never be owned by anyone but the Fieldings family. At first they were pleased with my father’s work. Wil had defended them wel . Mr. Fieldings got the impression that my father had a personal vendetta against Sean McKnight, but that was fine with him.

But then one day, Sean McKnight cal ed Walter Fieldings. At first, Mr. Fieldings wouldn’t talk. He told McKnight to contact his attorney and was about to hang up, when McKnight said a few words that changed everything. “Your son, Laddy,” McKnight had said. “I know about his extracurricular activities.”

Eden sat forward on the couch at that point. “Dad, I think that’s enough.”

Her father snorted, waved her away with a quick gesture of his walking stick. “I’m not talking about the drugs, Eden. We could have gotten over that.”

“Ms. Sutter,” he said, turning his gaze back to me. “What I’m about to tel you is private family business. I have no reason to trust that you’l keep thisconfidential,sinceyourfathercouldn’t,butI’m oldnow,mycompanyisgone,andfranklyitdoesn’t matter anymore who knows. So I’l tel you.”