No Accident (8 page)

Chip grasped Alex by the arm. “No, you’ll listen.” His voice became raspy. “It’s because you never saw the big picture.” He stabbed a chunky finger into Alex’s chest. “You never accepted that fraud is a cost of doing business. You thought your job was all about solving cases, and being clever and unique and oh-so-special Alex.”

This was rich, coming from a man with the work ethic of a hung-over college kid. “Silly me,” Alex said, “I thought my job was to be thorough and save the company money.”

“Yeah, silly
you
. For every random fraud case you uncovered, your thoroughness delayed payment to a hundred honest policyholders. Those hundred policyholders cancel their insurance with us and then they tell their family and friends. And then they complain to the insurance commission. You
cost
the company money.”

“There’s your cost of doing business, champ,” Alex said, but Chip kept going.

“That’s why an investigator is all you were ever going to be. This company’s growing, Alex. I’m going to grow it even more than my dad did. And in the big picture, customer relations matters more than a few two-bit scam artists.”

Alex noticed that a spot of foam had appeared at each corner of Chip’s mouth. Chip was full of crap, but it felt good to push his buttons.

“You know, you’re smarter than people give you credit for,” Alex said.

The corners of Chip’s mouth twisted upward into a tentative smile, and his features softened. A baby seal looking up at a falling club.

“But no matter how smart you are,” Alex said, gently straightening Chip’s tie and giving the knot one neat pat, “people will always know you as ‘junior.’”

*
* *

Alex walked past the main reception desk as casually as he could while toting a box with a bobblehead toy and the other personal leftovers from his years at Rampart. He was staring straight ahead, ruing his outburst at Chip, when a woman he hadn’t seen coming slapped him across the face.

“You came to my house with flowers. I confided in you. And now you send me this!”

The woman pushed a crumpled page into Alex’s chest. Alex cracked it open to find a printout of an email from Rampart denying insurance coverage. Alex looked at the addressee line in the email and then looked up at the woman’s face. Roberta Cummings had been crying.

“I wasn’t responsible,” Alex said.

“And now with the lawsuit from the accide
nt and no liability coverage . . . we’ll probably lose the house.” Her shoulders buckled and she gave in to sobbing. Alex touched his fingertips gently to her shoulder—he didn’t know what else to do; he didn’t need a sexual harassment suit on top of everything else—but she jerked upright and slapped his arm away.

“Don’t touch me, you creep,” she shrieked. She turned and fled to the elevator. There she stood, awkwardly waiting for the elevator doors to open. Under the rapt watch of those in the reception area, Alex carefully approached her from behind. The brushed steel of the elevator doors reflected a distorted image of her clenched jaw and downcast eyes.

“Mrs. Cummings,” he said, but she didn’t look up or respond. He wanted to tell her everything, pour out the details of his theory of the case and all the work he’d done on it right there in front of everyone. He couldn’t possibly look more foolish than he already did. But he knew she wouldn’t hear it. She had been wronged and was in pain. His response had to be as simple as that. “Listen,” he said, “I . . . wasn’t . . . responsible. Rampart did this to you.”

She faced him and spoke so softly that Alex had to lean in to hear her.

“But Rampart used you to help them, right?” Alex didn’t deny it. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. “That’s just as bad as doing it yourself.”

The elevator doors closed, leaving Alex to face his own distorted reflection. Feeling angry and embarrassed and foolish, Alex squared his shoulders and marched back to Chip’s office. He wasn’t leaving without a fight, and he fantasized about Chip squealing for someone to call security.

Chip was away from his office, which made Alex even angrier, but then Alex got another idea. He looked out into the hall to make sure Chip wasn’t on his way back, then he opened a drawer—and removed the Cummings file.

The conference room at Liberty Industries’ headquarters could hold up to twenty around its long, polished wood table. Today only two were seated there, together at one end of the grand chamber. Two lawyers: an older one and a younger one, waiting.

The older one, Alan Mathews, was about sixty. He had a deeply lined face, but he was tall and gave an impression of physical vigor. His starched white shirt matched his full head of wavy white hair, which was combed back and fixed with mousse so that it looked like it had been carved from marble. The other lawyer, a young associate, had loose brown hair that fell almost to his eyes and was combed to look like a tuft of wind-blown grass.

They heard the door open and Alan immediately stood to greet his client. Instead, a man he didn’t know entered and said that Luke Hubbard would be with them shortly. The man was taller than Alan, powerfully built, and wore a suit that was almost as impressive as Alan’s. His close-cropped hair was strikingly pale
—silver—even though the man was not old.

The door opened again and Luke Hubbard entered. Alan instantly forgot the other man existed and approached Luke with genial greetings.

“You’ve met Crash Bailey, I see,” Luke said.

Alan distractedly looked back. “Um, yes, we were just introducing ourselves.”

“Crash here is going to be my emissary to Ray McLean, aren’t you, Crash?”

Alan smiled at Crash with genuine warmth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a lawyer.”

Crash was impassive, but Luke had a good laugh. “Crash isn’t a lawyer,” he said. “But you don’t need a law degree to be persuasive.”

Alan’s face lit up. “Well, Ray McLean’s hedge fund is well known for hostile takeovers, which are just a corporate law minefield. We’d be more than happy to help you on the legal side with all of that.”

“As always, Alan, if there’s a way you can help,” Luke said wryly, “I’ll find a role for you. Now, let’s get down to business.”

Crash left, and Luke and Alan sat at the table with Alan’s young colleague, who didn’t introduce himself to Luke and wasn’t introduced.

“I’ve seen the TV news, and I know what the problem is,” Alan said. “Sheila’s trying to pressure you into an expensive divorce settlement by bad-mouthing you to the press.”

“By
lying
about me to the press,” Luke said firmly. “Not to mention all our philanthropic friends. Making me look like some sort of charity deadbeat. It was
her
idea to cancel the gift to the cancer center.”

“I know,” Alan said softly.

“And now I don’t know if they’ll keep me on the board. Same with the board of trustees for the museum. Once one domino falls, they all fall. And she knows that.” Luke’s shoulders drooped a little, and his voice became emotional for the first time. “Tell me, Alan, what kind of screwed-up world do we live in where
I
have to pay
her
to stop messing up my life? She doesn’t have any kids to raise. She has a degree, she can work. Why does she get to sponge off my success?”

Alan gave a resigned shrug. “Our matrimonial law was designed for a different time. The law is always slow to catch up with social developments. But what matters is you’ve got the right team on your side.” He patted Luke on the arm.

“I’m glad for that,” Luke said, more composed. “There was no one else I considered for the job.”

“We were just glad we could build on the close relationship between Boswell & Baker and Liberty Industries,” Alan said.

“So has she got a lawyer yet?” Luke said.

“It’s no one we’ve heard of before.” Alan tapped the table in front of his associate. “What’s his name again?”

“Bradley D. Pitcher,” the associate said crisply.

Alan shrugged dismissively. “A nobody. That’s good for us. Only a handful of divorce lawyers in town are worth worrying about, and they’re all hell on wheels. God knows why she didn’t pick one of them.”

Luke smiled to himself and chuffed a little laugh. “God knows,” he said. “Anyway, it’s not her lawyer we need to worry about. It’s her. She’s smart, Alan, cunning. All she needs is a mouthpiece to do her bidding.”

The associate busily scratched out notes on a thick legal pad.

“That’s right, kid,” Luke said to him. “Write that down, get it tattooed.” He turned to Alan. “Now we need to pressure her. I’ll tell you a secret, Alan: she’s vain.”

Alan laughed despite himself, and Luke laughed with him.

“Oh, you’re not surprised?” Luke said. “She’s vain, and she spends a lot of money. She can’t stand not to keep up appearances.”

“Keep going,” Alan said.

“So what I want you to do,” Luke said, “is to find a dozen young lawyers like this guy here, and put them to work drafting every motion they can think of.”

Alan nodded. “The longer we delay a settlement, the more she’ll spend and the more desperate she’ll get.”

“Right,” Luke said. “Resist everything, assist on nothing and delay, delay, delay.”

“Luke, it’s great to have a client who gets it,” Alan said. He thought of all the billable hours this strategy would mean. “You’re a dream come true.”

“I know. So, delaying is part one of the Luke Hubbard strategy.”

“And part two is?”

“That’s what I want
you
to tell
me
. Part two is: find me a way to shut her up.”

“But the First Amendment
—” the young associate started, but Alan tapped the table at him again.

Alan nodded thoughtfully, then said. “Luke, it’s impossible to stop people from gossiping. But let’s consider the tactical opportunity here.”

“I’m listening . . .”

“We simply let her talk. We give her enough rope to hang herself with. She’ll pay the price when we get in front of a judge. Remember
—the judge has a lot of discretion.”

Luke c
onsidered the proposal. “That’s . . . creative, but I want her to stop now. I can’t just stand by while she makes me look like an ass.”

“We could ask for a restraining order,” the associate said. The partner turned and glared at him. Luke seemed not to hear; he was pondering.

“God, it’s so simple,” he said finally. “I’ll just fire her.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Thanks, Alan. I didn’t ask. I’m going to do it.”

“It’s going to look terrible to the judge,” Alan said.

“You don’t understand, that’s where part one of my plan works its magic. Without a job, she’ll be hurting for money even more. She’ll beg me to settle with her.”

“Firing her will invite a sexual harassment claim against you and the company.”

“That’s crap,” Luke said airily. “I’m not firing her because she’s a woman, I’m firing her because she’s a heartless medusa.”

“Now, Luke, I’m guessing that up till now, your wife has had good performance reviews, has been well respected in the company?”

“Sure, I’ve protected her,” Luke said. “I mean, she does fine.” Alan regarded Luke skeptically, and Luke laughed. “Come on, she does H.R. How hard can it be? It’s not like she’s got revenue projections she needs to hit.”

Alan nodded sagely. “I thought that might be the case.” More profound nodding followed, and Luke realized that a lawyerly shift in course was coming. “Firing your wife under the current circumstances would expose the company to a serious risk of liability under employment law.”

“Fine, Alan, I get it. That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The lawyer shifted on his seat, but his voice was reassuring when he spoke again. “The problem is that your interests diverge from the company’s here. We think the better approach is to let the board of directors decide whether to fire her.”

“I’ve listened to people like you say ‘no’ my whole career,” Luke said. “And if I had followed that advice, Liberty Industries would still be a sleepy little family company. No, worse—it would be bankrupt by now.”

“Mr. Hubbard, a conflict like this is explicitly covered by the board’s policies,” the young associate piped up. He was pointing to a document that he had pulled from a folder.

“Nobody asked you, junior,” Luke said.

Alan jumped in. “Given our representation of you in the divorce and the company in other matters, if you fire Sheila we’ll have a conflict of interest under the bar’s ethics rules. We’ll have to get a waiver from the board of directors.”

“Last time, Alan: not gonna happen.”

The young associate looked at Alan, who looked at Luke.

“Then we may not be able to continue representing you in your divorce,” Alan said.

Luke clapped his hands together. “Ah, so
that’s
it. You’re worried about covering your own asses.”

“It’s not a situation we want to be in, but there are ways to resolve it for everyone’s benefit.”

“I’m sure there are,” Luke said mockingly. “Look, Alan, we’ve known each other a long time, so don’t try to sweet talk me, OK? You’re worried about a conflict? I’ll make it real easy for you. You withdraw from my divorce, and I’ll make sure you lose every piece of business you have with Liberty Industries. Every deal, every litigation, every last one.”

Alan’s voice remained even. “The Boswell firm has had a long and productive relationship with
—”

“It should be called the ‘Hubbard firm’ after all I’ve done for you,” Luke countered. “When you first started working for me, you guys could barely afford to hire associates. You didn’t know how to do a merger. You didn’t know how to do a stock offering. I made you. And I can un-make you.”

Alan looked impassively at Luke. Luke stared back without blinking. Only the young associate showed frenzy in his eyes. It was Luke who finally rendered the verdict.

“All I’m asking yo
u to do is your job. You give the advice. I’ll make the decisions.”

*
* *

Brad was trapped. His office door was closed, and between him and the door stood Sheila. Brad had never seen Sheila this way. She had started out calm like always, serious but calm, until she delivered the news.

“He fired me.”

She repeated the phrase every minute or so in between creatively profane bursts of vitriol that made the veins in her forehead stand out. Each time the vitriol ran out, she said the phrase again, and saying it stoked her anger anew.

“The son of a bitch fired me!”

Her pale skin reddened as her rant wore on. The color came in blotches that grew larger till her entire face, from neck to scalp, was an unnatural shade of red, beyond a sunburn, beyond heat stroke. The contrast with her golden blonde hair was unsettling. She looked like a figure from a lurid Andy Warhol portrait.

“He would be nowhere without me! Nowhere!”

Cindy, her eyes wide with concern, cracked opened the office door to see what the commotion was about. As Sheila cast a glance toward the ceiling to implore unnamed gods for aid, Brad discreetly shook his head at Cindy, and she vamoosed.

“His ingratitude is astounding. I should be the one firing him. I put my career in the back seat to help him get to the top. But who does he pull up with him? That cheap whore of his, that mail-order bitch!”

As she carried on, Brad stopped being frightened and even began to feel calm. He knew how to handle clients like this. Many of Brad’s criminal defendants succumbed to fits of anger when they finally realized they were going to prison. For Sheila, being fired came with the same shock and disappointment. And for once she had reacted like anybody would react, not like the inscrutable blonde cyborg who first walked into his office.

“Sheila, we can deal with this,” Brad said gently. “You’ve let Luke get you maybe a little overexcited about this? That’s what he wants.”

“Overexcited” didn’t begin to describe his client’s tantrum, but “hysterical” was a word Brad didn’t feel bold enough to utter. Brad got the sense that all her yelling and cursing kept her from crying. From his perspective, crying would be even worse. Anger was always unpleasant, but it was never awkward.

“Oh yeah?” Sheila said. “What’s your plan to
deal
with this? Read some cases? Scratch your ass?”

Brad kept his poise. Clients often lashed out at their lawyers. And when they did, their lawyers calmed them down. It was what lawyers got paid for. He kept telling himself that.

“Sheila, this will only harm him in the long run. It’ll only harm him in front of the judge.”

“Oh, thanks for the tip. Well, right now it’s harming
me
. He wants to take everything away from me, Brad. And the only reason he has any power is because I helped him get it.”

Sheila leaned over the desk and jabbed a finger toward Brad’s chest with each sentence, and Brad leaned back in his chair to avoid contact. His words hadn’t calmed her down. If anything, she was getting angrier.

“He couldn’t have built Liberty Industries on his own. We were supposed to be a team.” She rose to her full height, pushing back the hair on her forehand in one firm sweep. “Oh, the times I covered for him, the times I had his back. The stories I could tell you.”