Power Lawyer 3

by Dave Daren

  “No,” Pickering hesitated. “Why would anyone be there? No one knew about it.”

  “Except Burke,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but he’s dead,” Pickering replied.

  “Did you tell the FBI?” I asked.

  “Erm, well,” Pickering muttered and then coughed. “I decided they had their own accountants. They were just as capable as we were of tracking it down.”

  “So no,” I noted. We might finally have found a clue that no one else had.

  “There was the firm’s reputation to consider,” Pickering sniffed.

  “Of course,” I agreed.

  We hung up amid mutual promises to keep each other updated. I had Sofia send Shorty a text with the address for the apartment and the suggestion that Burke may have stayed there for at least part of the time. Then I made the phone call I was dreading. Gloria had put up with a lot of my questions recently, but I wasn’t sure how much longer she would cooperate. I also wasn’t sure how much of what she told me was true, which was a bad position to be in with your own client.

  “Mr. Creed,” she said in a perky voice when she answered, clearly in full real estate agent mode.

  “Do you need me to call back later?” I asked.

  “Just a moment,” she replied. “I’ll just step outside while my clients look around. Please, take your time.”

  There was a muffled response, and then the next sound I heard was a door closing.

  “All right, Vincent,” Gloria said in a less happy voice. “What do you need to know now?”

  “It’s about the properties in Mexico,” I explained.

  “We only had the one at the time Matthew was lost,” Gloria pointed out.

  “That’s not exactly true,” I said. “Matthew set up an automatic payment and rent renewal for an apartment near Guaymas in Sonora. He used one of his portfolios and billed it as a management fee.”

  “And?” Gloria asked.

  “That doesn’t strike you as odd?” I replied.

  “I have no idea,” she said. “Companies rent corporate apartments all the time. I’m sure it was something similar.”

  “Why Guaymas?” I asked. “Durango Investments doesn’t have any offices there.”

  “But it does have good fishing,” Gloria retorted. “I’m sure Matthew used it for clients when they would stay overnight after a fishing trip.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure,” I insisted.

  “What I know,” she snapped, “is that Matthew often took clients fishing, and they often spent time in Mexico, in places like Guaymas which most tourists have never heard of but happen to have plenty of good fishing. I also know that they often stayed in places like Guaymas overnight, and no, Matthew never mentioned that he was renting a place down there using one of his funds, but then there was no reason for him to mention it.”

  “You just figured they were staying in the condo,” I suggested.

  “I didn’t ask,” she sighed. “Matthew had all sorts of contacts along the coast and he would call ahead of time to make sure that everything was set up. It was all a part of the service.”

  “So there might be more apartments,” I mused.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Though I doubt he would have kept twenty different apartments on the payroll, so to speak. I know they used Guaymas and San Carlos a lot when they went fishing, so maybe that’s why he was renting the apartment full time.”

  “Well, we know what to look for now,” I stated.

  “Good for you,” she murmured.

  “I also had a question about the condo,” I continued.

  “Of course you did,” she replied.

  “You mentioned that the condo had always been in your name,” I continued.

  “Yes,” she agreed suspiciously.

  “But that’s not quite true,” I added. “You both signed the original purchase agreement.”

  There was a long pause, and I wondered if she would answer or simply hang up.

  “I suppose that’s true,” she finally said. “Matthew always wanted me to be the only listed owner, that was the plan from the beginning.”

  “But?” I prodded.

  “I’m trying to remember,” she replied. “The local agent kept insisting that having just a woman’s name on the deed wasn’t a good idea, for security reasons. Matthew finally agreed, and so we both signed, but once we had the deed in hand, Matthew used a local attorney to transfer everything to my name. That couldn’t have been that long after we bought it. I’ve just always said it was in my name because that’s what we intended to do from the beginning.”

  “You can see how all of this would look very suspicious to the FBI,” I pointed out.

  “No, as a matter of fact, I do not,” Gloria snapped.

  “Trust me, it does,” I replied.

  “But you represent me,” she retorted. “Why are you being so pushy about this?”

  “If I’m going to rebut the FBI’s case, I need to know what evidence they have and how they intend to use it,” I replied. “But I keep finding these details that you haven’t shared with me.”

  “They’re not important,” she insisted.

  “They are,” I declared. “The FBI will be focused on these types of details in order to build their case. The fact that the transfer was completed just months before he disappeared looks like he was planning something. And then there are the changes to the trust, the apartment in Guaymas, and the overseas accounts. It all starts to look like an escape plan.”

  “What overseas accounts?” Gloria demanded.

  “Matthew set up several overseas accounts for his clients,” I replied.

  “But not for me,” she retorted. “So how is that a sign that he made some grand escape plan?”

  “The FBI will argue that they’re still searching his accounts and that he could very well have established an account for himself somewhere,” I explained.

  “No, no, no, no,” Gloria snapped and I could imagine her shaking her head as she said this. “Mr. Creed, are you trying to prove my husband is still alive? Are you working for the FBI now?”

  “I’m working for you,” I quickly reassured her.

  “It doesn’t feel like it,” she snorted. “I’m not sure that you’re the man I thought you were.”

  “We should meet,” I suggested in a placating voice. “I’ll update you on everything that’s happened and explain why I’m asking these questions. I think it will make more sense to you then and you may even think of something else that you think I should know.”

  “I think you’ve already explained enough,” she replied.

  “Please, Gloria,” I said, “I didn’t mean to upset you or accuse you of anything. But you have to be ready for this. If you want to have Matthew declared dead, these are the questions you need to be able to answer.”

  “There was no nefarious plan,” she sighed. “It just worked out that way. And I didn’t lie about the condo. I just always thought of it as mine, at Matthew’s insistence, and the paperwork was just something we did to make it official.”

  “I understand,” I assured her. “But you need to be able to see this from the FBI’s point of view. In their mind, it looks very bad. Just meet with me. I think it will help.”

  “I have another client after this one,” she finally stated. “I don’t think I can make it to Van Nuys today.”

  “I can come to you,” I suggested.

  There was another pause and then Gloria was talking to someone in her happy real estate agent voice again. There was some back and forth and then Gloria came back on the line.

  “Let’s say three o’clock at my house,” she told me and then hung up.

  “Three it is,” I said to myself.

  I worked through lunch, which turned out to be an unexpected delivery from the place downstairs. Tony arrived on our doorstep at 11:55 with an overflowing bag filled with the day’s special: shrimp tacos and fried plantains. Two agua frescas were included as well.


  “Muriel sent these,” he said shyly as he handed everything to Sofia. “She said you can pay her later.”

  “Thank you,” Sofia said sincerely.

  Sofia appeared in my office a moment later, carrying the bag. We split the food between us and the office quickly fell silent except for the sound of us eating. I have no idea where the cook picks up his food supplies every day, but it is always incredibly fresh and delicious and today was no exception. The shrimp were perfection, the sauce was somehow both bright and smokey, and the plantains were that perfect balance of sweet and salty. When I finished my share, I stared at my empty plate in disappointment and then glanced towards Sofia’s share.

  “Not a chance,” she mumbled around a mouthful of shrimp when she saw where my gaze was focused.

  “Just a few plantains,” I suggested.

  “Nope,” she replied. “Just go order more.”

  “I shouldn’t eat another entire serving,” I protested.

  “Then I guess you’re done,” she smirked.

  “Maybe I should get another order,” I mused. “I have to face Gloria this afternoon, after all.”

  “Is she going to fire you?” Sofia asked. I’d described the phone call to Sofia and we’d both concluded that our future on the case seemed doubtful.

  “Not sure,” I admitted. “She does seem angry right now.”

  “Maybe you should take her some plantains,” Sofia noted.

  “I’m not sure Gloria is a fried plantain kind of person,” I remarked.

  “Now that’s a good reason to drop her as a client,” Sofia laughed.

  “But she does pay the bill,” I pointed out. “Which is more than some of our other clients have done.”

  “Sad but true,” Sofia admitted with a smirk. “Which means you probably don’t have the money for another order.”

  “You’re probably right,” I agreed. “And I need to finish up this document request before I head to Gloria’s, so if you’re done?”

  Sofia chewed her last bite very slowly, then took a long sip of her drink. When she’d patted her mouth with her napkin, dusted imaginary crumbs from her lap, and fluffed her hair, she stood up and helped me collect the remains. With my desk once again my own, I turned back to the work at hand.

  By the time I left for Studio City, I had my other cases well in hand. My one upcoming court date on a dog-bite case had been postponed, and it looked like we would reach a settlement. We were still waiting for a docket date on the Burke case, and I suspected the FBI might have something to do with the longer than usual delay.

  I spotted Perrin’s Volvo in the driveway when I arrived and I wondered what she was doing here this early. I parked in front of the house and walked up to the front door. I was mentally working out what to say to Gloria when the door opened. Only it wasn’t Gloria who answered but Perrin.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” I blurted out.

  “And it’s nice to see you, too,” Perrin replied with a grin. “Come on in. Mom will be back in a few. She’s just returning the neighbor’s dog that got loose. It was napping in the front yard when she got home.”

  We walked back to the kitchen where Perrin pulled the flavored water from the refrigerator and poured us each a glass.

  “I’m very happy to see you,” I remarked. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

  “So you said,” she laughed. “Mom called me at work and asked if I could leave a little early. She said she needed the emotional support.”

  “Oh dear,” I sighed. “That doesn’t sound very promising. I feel like I’ve been called to the Principal’s office.”

  “Don’t worry,” Perrin assured me. “She’s not going to fire you. I think she just needs to vent. Once she has it out of her system, she’ll be okay.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I stated. “I’d hate to lose this case now.”

  “Just as it’s getting interesting?” Perrin suggested.

  “Something like that,” I admitted. “Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’d really like to know why you believe your father is still alive.”

  “Is it really that important?” she asked after a brief hesitation. “Can’t you just chalk it up to girlish fantasies?”

  “I’m sure you’ve had your share of girlish fantasies,” I replied with a grin, “but I also think you have a much better reason for believing your father is still alive.”

  Perrin set her glass down on the counter and twirled it, much as her mother had done.

  “When I was really little,” she finally began, “my father took me down to the bank with him and set up an account for me. He made a big fuss out of it, told me how I could put money into it and save it up to buy a house or go to college. For years, my dad would deposit a small amount of money into the account, like clockwork. And it built up a nice, tidy sum. It was great.”

  “And then?” I prompted.

  “And then I turned twelve,” she admitted. “Dad finally gave me an ATM card that I could use. I didn’t clean out the account, but I bought my Xbox games on my own after that, and a lot of my own clothes. At first, mom didn’t say anything because she knew that I had a debit card. But she also knew that the debit card didn’t have that much money on it. Mom started to ask how I was affording all this stuff. Dad finally had to warn me not to spend so much or mom would find the account and that would be the end of our little secret.”

  “So you cut back on your spending,” I suggested.

  “Sort of,” she agreed. “I also got better at hiding anything new I bought.”

  “Ah,” I replied with a smile.

  “Dad still made the monthly payments, though, so the account was always pretty flush,” she assured me.

  “Did you use it to help pay for college?” I asked.

  “Not the classes,” she said. “I had a scholarship for that. But I used it to cover other expenses. Mom still has no idea how much I really spent while I was there.”

  “All right,” I mused. “So what does this have to do with your father being alive?”

  “About six months after dad went missing, another deposit was made into the account,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t sure what to think, so I made up some story about money being added to the debit card. Mom said it was clearly an accounting error and she would call the bank. I told her not to worry, I would take care of it.”

  “Was it just the one deposit?” I asked suspiciously.

  “No,” Perrin admitted with a shake of the head. “They’ve been made every month since then like clockwork.”

  “And your father was the only one who knew about the account?” I persisted.

  “The only one,” she agreed.

  “Could he have set something up with a friend of his?” I argued. “Some sort of arrangement that would keep the payments coming even after he was dead?”

  “I suppose he could have,” she replied. “But wouldn’t you get a letter or something? No one’s ever stepped forward to say ‘hey, I’m the one sending you the money every month.’”

  “Fair enough,” I said, “unless your father wanted them to remain anonymous.”

  “What would be the point?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she declared. “Maybe dad did make some sort of arrangements. But I think it makes more sense that he’s still alive somewhere and still sending me money.”

  “You could be right,” I agreed. “But why haven’t you told your mother? Especially now that she wants to have him declared dead?”

  “It was always our little secret,” Perrin explained, “and I want it to stay that way. Mom having him declared legally dead doesn’t change anything.”

  “Except that Geoffrey will now be in the picture,” I pointed out.

  “Geoffrey,” Perrin groaned. “I don’t know what mom sees in him.”

  “He definitely puts off a weird vibe,” I agreed.

  “He does seem to care a
bout mom,” Perrin admitted, “in his own weird way. I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s always watching me.”

  “He seems overly protective,” I suggested.

  “Ugh,” Perrin groaned, “that’s one way to describe it.”

  “One way to describe what?” Gloria asked as she swirled into the kitchen. She was still in her suit, a turquoise number with a long jacket and a pleated skirt. She’d replaced her business shoes with a grungy pair of sneakers though and it looked like most of her jewelry had already been removed as well.

  “The surf we’ve been getting lately,” Perrin quickly replied.

  “Do you surf as well, Mr. Creed?” Gloria asked.

  “Sometimes,” I replied. “I don’t have much time these days though.”

  “Well, I’ll just go check on the laundry,” Perrin declared as she sidestepped her mother and disappeared towards the garage.

  Gloria gave a short nod and then turned her fierce gaze on me. She didn’t move or say anything, just stood and looked.

  “Perrin said you had to return the neighbor’s dog,” I finally mentioned.

  “He’s a bit of an escape artist,” Gloria remarked. “He seems to find a way out of their yard no matter what they do.”

  “Gloria,” I began and then stopped when she held up a hand.

  “I want to speak,” she declared.

  “Please,” I insisted.

  “Let me start by saying that I understand you believe you’re doing what you need to do in order to best represent me,” she stated. “I appreciate that, I really do. But, I feel as if you don’t understand what I need or expect from you. When you agreed to take this case, you said you would support me in whatever way I needed. You agreed to help me end this painful chapter of my life and move forward. Yet, I feel that I’m under attack again, not only from the FBI, but from you as well.”

  Her voice had risen steadily as she spoke and her right hand was clenched so tightly that the knuckles were turning white. I stayed where I was, letting her vent as Perrin said she needed to do.

  “I will answer whatever questions you or anyone else wants to ask to the best of my abilities,” she continued. “I have not tried to mislead you, I have not lied to you, I have not done anything to earn your distrust. I refuse to be treated as if I were some… some… criminal who’s just been arrested. And from my own attorney!”