Tower of Babel

by Michael Sears

  “Why are we here?” Ted asked.

  The driver shot him an angry look in the rearview mirror. “Because someone with major juice wants you here. This is not SOP.”

  The SUV pulled over in front of a building Ted knew well. The law offices of Hasting, Fitzmaurice, and Barson took up most of five floors. After a quick phone consultation, the marshals led Ted to the firm’s private dining room on the topmost floor.

  The Judge met them at the elevator.

  “Thank you both for your service,” he oozed. “This is all quite unusual, I am sure. The deputy director is an old friend, you understand. He is doing me a great personal favor.”

  Ted could see that the marshals didn’t understand—or care. But they didn’t like it either.

  “Please remove the handcuffs. I will be needing Mr. Molloy for approximately an hour. Two at the most. If you don’t mind waiting?” The Judge held up an index finger, and Oliver, the sole waiter, joined them. “Can we get these hardworking officers something to eat? Sandwiches? Have them delivered out to their car, would you?”

  The Judge smiled at the marshals. They were dismissed. They didn’t like that either, but they retreated into the elevator.

  “Ted,” the Judge cried, feigning surprise, as though Ted’s presence were the work of some second-rate magician. “Thank you for joining us. This way, please.” He took Ted’s arm and guided him into the dining room. There was no one else present. This was unusual but not unique. Lowly associates and junior partners never ate there unless invited by more senior members of the firm. And as everyone from summer intern to department head was billing for every eight-minute unit of time, very few people showed up in the dining room unless they were accompanied by a client. When Ted was with the firm, he had eaten there exactly once—the day that Jill’s father had welcomed him to the firm.

  “Have a seat,” the Judge said “No, not there. There. Much better. Our client has a preference, you see. And keeping the client happy is always our first priority.”

  Ted took the proffered chair. “And here I thought respect for the law was what the firm was all about.”

  The Judge put his head back and roared with laughter. “Well put. I miss you, young man. I do hope that we can reach an agreement today. I’m so glad you chose to come.”

  If the alternative had been one of the federal holding pens, Ted could have been easily persuaded to come uptown for lunch. The matter of choice, however, had never been part of the discussion.

  “Who’s the client?” Ted asked.

  The Judge made a show of taking a pocket watch from his vest and checking the time. “He seems to be running late.” Tucking it away again, he smiled at Ted. “Which gives us some time to go over a few items. Still, or would you prefer sparkling?”

  Oliver was standing across the room, ostensibly out of earshot, but at these words he scuttled to the table and made a bow, deep enough to denote the presence of aristocracy but not quite royalty. He held a clear pitcher of water with lemon and lime slices.

  “Still,” Ted said. It was the Judge’s script they were playing to, and these polite little concessions were there to put Ted at ease. They wouldn’t work. He was on guard, expecting a thrust to his heart or a slash at his throat.

  Oliver poured and retreated.

  “The biggest challenge this firm faces is talent,” the Judge said. “We are in constant competition for the best and brightest from the top schools, and yet so many of them fail to survive the first five years. They lack fire. You had that fire, Teddy. It was what I saw in you the first time we met.”

  Smoke. The Judge was using smoke. The thrust would come next.

  “Aside from the extremely rare late bloomer, it is impossible to hire an experienced lawyer of any quality. Plodders, yes. But a star? No. And then there is you.” He abruptly switched persona, throwing off the unctuous sincerity, making eye contact for the first time, and adopting the pose of a serious negotiator.. “Tell me—what would entice you to return to the firm?” the Judge finished, aiming directly for the heart.

  The performance deserved applause, but Ted took his time responding. “I’d like to know what I’m selling before we start negotiating price.”

  “Humor me.”

  Fine. But he wasn’t going to make it easy. “Why would the firm want me? I don’t bring valuable clients or niche expertise. I don’t even have a current license to practice.”

  “You are both resourceful and impulsive. Jesuitical in your moral reasoning. Intuitive and brilliant. At times a bit of a rogue. Piratical. These are the qualities I look for in any prospect.”

  The script was an old one. Ted had heard it fifteen years earlier. It no longer had the power to move him. “And don’t those top schools produce such prospects every May?”

  The Judge made another abrupt change in direction. “There have been some developments this morning that bear on your situation.”

  “You mean my visit with the Queens District Attorney’s Office?”

  “Indirectly. You will find that they have lost interest in you.”

  Ted didn’t trust himself to say anything. The Judge noted his silent surprise but did not pause. “While you were being interviewed, the main witness against you recanted, under questioning by the FBI and an AUSA from the Eastern District. Cheryl Rubiano”—the Judge pronounced the name “Sheryl”—“has agreed to plead guilty in federal court to a single charge of soliciting a bribe. She will serve a year in a minimum-security federal facility. Mr. Petronelli was not consulted.”

  Was this their plan B? What carrot-and-stick inducements had they used to persuade Cheryl to change her story so dramatically and abruptly? What was the going rate for falling on one’s sword?

  “And Councilman Pak?” Ted asked.

  “There is no case. He is with the prosecuting attorney now, answering questions.”

  Ted let the sarcasm flow. “She operated alone? Demanded cash for access? And her boss had no idea this was going on? The media is going to tear that story to pieces.”

  The Judge let show a touch of his frustration with Ted’s attitude. “And despite the fact that there is ample evidence that you were her coconspirator—and quite likely her lover—you will not be prosecuted, nor asked to give testimony.”

  “Only none of that is true.”

  The Judge laughed again. “Facts? You’ve been watching Law & Order again.”

  “What about the Russian gangster?”

  “You mean the man you attacked in the hospital?”

  “Twice he tried to kill McKenzie Zielinski. Prior to that he and his partner assaulted me and another friend, and he would gladly have killed me if I hadn’t fought him off. What’s his deal? Will he have to spend a few months raking gravel in one of those minimum-security facilities? Or does he get to walk?”

  “The case against him may not be as strong as you might wish.”

  “I caught him in the act of administering a potentially lethal dose of insulin to a comatose patient.”

  “It seems that your Russian is actually from Belarus and is here on an expired visa. As soon as he is strong enough to travel, he will be repatriated. He will not threaten you or anyone else again. That is a solemn promise.”

  Ted wanted to see the man in court being sentenced for his crimes. He wanted to see that arrogant face sag in defeat as the man realized that he was about to serve a decade or two in prison. He wanted to be able to tell Kenzie that he’d watched him being sentenced and led away.

  And then he realized that in making that promise, the Judge had admitted his culpability. He might not have aided and abetted, but he had been aware of the players involved and what deeds they committed. Nothing could ever be proved, of course. But the promise was as real as the threat had been.

  Ted had been outmaneuvered again.

  “What happens now?” Ted asked.
>
  “Lunch. Just as soon as our guest arrives. You must be hungry. You’ve had a hell of a night. I don’t know what’s keeping him. Oliver, could you bring Mr. Molloy a little something to keep him from fading away? Something with protein, I think.”

  Ted wasn’t hungry. He wanted confirmation for all he had deduced. He would get it; he just had to keep the Judge talking. “What is the package? I’m not coming back to the firm to sit on my ass. What do I do? What’s my future? Where do you see me in five years? In ten? Come on, this is your pitch. Make me want it.”

  The Judge looked down and repositioned his knife and fork, aligning them in parallel equidistant from the plate on either side. He cleared his throat and began:

  “The wheel has come around, as it always does, and commercial real estate is again a major source of revenue for the firm. I can’t make you head of the department, but I can see you coming aboard as a junior partner—”

  “Senior,” Ted interrupted.

  The Judge paused long enough that Ted believed him when he agreed. “Senior partner. You will have a substantial client list. Ten years from now? You would be running the department with a seat on the governing committee.”

  Oliver set a small plate in front of Ted containing a tennis ball-sized burrata on a bed of fresh basil leaves. Ted ignored it. “What else? There’re other people involved. What happens to Barbara Miller? I am assuming she’s alive. You might need her.”

  The Judge allowed a slight nod of admission.

  “So?” Ted continued. “Her money? Her properties?”

  “I am touched. You met this person once and feel compelled to advocate for her. She is a tough old woman who, sadly, is sinking into dementia. She now resides in one of the best eldercare facilities in the country. No. In the world. She has no heirs, no pet charities, not even a close friend who would benefit. What would you want for her that she does not have?”

  “I want to see her. I want to know she’s happy there.”

  “I will arrange for you to visit her. But happiness comes from within. I cannot guarantee it, nor should you expect it. But she is content. And safe.”

  “The surplus money? There’s a million and change sitting there.”

  “You won’t need it. In five years you’ll be worth ten times that.”

  “It’s not for me. I have a partner. He’s owed a substantial share.”

  “A worn-out drunk, from what I hear,” the Judge said in an arch tone, which he immediately dropped. “He’s not worthy, Ted,” he said, ladling on an unctuous false sympathy, as though Lester were an unfortunate relative.

  “I could tell you that I owe him, but that kind of loyalty to a man like Lester wouldn’t make any sense to you.” There was more to Lester than the Judge could ever imagine. But Ted held off. The Judge would sneer at emotion, but a reasoned argument presented by one legal mind to another might get through. “He knows as much as I do about all of this and he’s smart. He’ll figure out the rest. You can’t scare him off. Pay him a fair cut. Or you can order a more permanent solution, though I don’t think the cabal can afford another of those. The police have been struggling with the Richie Rubiano murder case, but a second body would be the thing they need to tie that to the attack on McKenzie Zielinski, and then you’d all be well and truly screwed. I don’t doubt that you could do it—and get away with it again—but why? There’s no shortage of loose cash lying around. Pay him.”

  “Who is this Richie you mentioned?”

  Ted didn’t let this half-hearted evasion stop him. “The point, Your Honor, is that you can no longer bear the scrutiny of the police. For a relatively small sum, you can divest yourselves of a potential threat. My way, the risk disappears. Your way, it simply shifts—and increases.”

  The Judge stroked the side of his long, thin nose. “We can arrange something,” he agreed.

  The weight of anxiety in Ted’s chest lifted a touch. He hoped it didn’t show. He wasn’t done.

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Half a mil.”

  “Too much. One hundred thousand.”

  “Three hundred thousand,” Ted said. “That’s half of my half of what I would have recovered for Barbara Miller. That was my deal with Lester.” Ted felt entirely comfortable lying about this. Lester had earned every last dollar.

  “It would be cleaner if we allowed Ms. Clavette to pursue those particular funds on behalf of the client. The money will go to Miss Miller and help to pay for her care. It will leave a convincing paper trail, should it be needed. We can find another way of paying your friend.”

  “And speaking of Jackie, what’s your proposal there? Jail or disbarment?”

  The Judge sighed, indicating that any resolution of Jacqueline’s involvement was going to be complicated. Not only did she have to be kept quiet, but more importantly, Jill had to be satisfied with any arrangement. “Her foray into high-level real estate transactions was not a success, I am sorry to say. However, there is always a need for a good trust and estates lawyer. She can have her old job.”

  “She bribed an elected official. Defrauded an elderly client. Destroyed court records. And she walks? No, even better. She gets rehabilitated with documents to prove it. What a farce.”

  “You and I have a special place in our hearts for someone who loves her dearly. Jill would be broken in two if we didn’t do all in our power to keep Jacqueline safe.”

  It was the Judge’s blind spot. Ted’s too, he acknowledged. But there was more than concern for Jill at work. The stakes were too high. If Cheryl had balked at taking full responsibility for the bribery, the Judge would have had to toss Jackie out of the life raft. But the fierce Ms. Clavette would not have gone quietly. She could not be easily—or cheaply—bought. Ted discovered that he had a grudging respect for the woman. “You have to protect Jackie, or she’ll talk and the whole house of cards tumbles. She knows all the ugly details. The firm. Councilman Pak. The Russian banker. Even Reisner, the man behind the biggest real estate deal in Queens. She’d take everybody down. Except you, maybe.”

  “I am only an advocate, Ted.”

  And the Judge was betting that Ted’s love for Jill would keep him from intervening and forcing their hand. Jackie would walk and Ted and the Judge would conspire to let her.

  “And the damned tower gets built,” Ted finally said.

  “Which will make a lot of people very happy. It is inevitable. Not only will this project attract real wealth to that neighborhood; it will provide jobs, improved amenities, and a commitment from both city and state government to upgraded services and infrastructure. Every politician in the state is racing to take credit, right up to the governor.”

  Ted was perhaps less enthused about the governor’s support than the Judge expected. “I know at least one person who won’t be happy about it.”

  “Ah, yes. The community organizer. How is she?”

  “Healing.”

  “I am happy to hear that. What she does is important, though quixotic. But I am sure she is used to living with disappointments. There will be other projects to protest.”

  Ted took a moment to let the stink of such arrogance dissipate.

  The Judge checked his watch again. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping him.”

  “And what do you want from me? What do I do to earn my place in this utopia?”

  The Judge raised both eyebrows, smiling tight-lipped and cold. “Nothing, Ted. You must do and say nothing. And if you can do that, the world is yours. I believe you are a man of honor. I will take your handshake as your bond.”

  -69-

  Ted would have instant status, money, and work he had once loved. There was the promise of power. And he would once again be a member of the legal fraternity, with recognition and respect.

  Silence was a small price to pay for all that. Too small, he thought. What was he missing? He watched
as the Judge again checked the time. That was a legitimate tell. He was worried.

  “Who are we waiting for?” Ted asked, though he was sure he knew.

  The Judge rearranged his face into a simulacrum of ecstatic expectancy before answering. “The first of your new clients.” The facade dropped. “I can’t think what’s keeping him.”

  “What happens if I don’t take your offer? Do I get to gracefully bow out? Or do the thugs bury me in the first concrete pilings that get poured?”

  “I don’t understand. I’m saving you from prosecution and offering you the opportunity for a meaningful career.”

  “No you’re not. This client. It’s Reisner. You want me to handle the LBC account. To keep both father and son happy and out of jail. And to do that, you’ll expect me to be their bagman. I’ll be the one carrying the envelopes full of cash, my stomach too tied in knots to even think about eating the fancy dinners all those bastards are wolfing down around me.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  Ted laughed in his face. The Judge was good, but he had not expected Ted to see through the offer so completely—or so quickly. For a brief moment, Ted was able to see the frightened man beneath the mask.

  “Fuck you all,” Ted said. They would let him come back to the firm, but there would be no recognition, no respect. He would be nothing more than a gofer, highly paid to leave his conscience at the door. They wanted him because they truly believed that his morality could be bought and that he would be willing to do any unspeakable—and illegal—act for a price. They—the family and the whole damn governing board—would be glad to have a gonif on board. Someone they could order to do the things they considered beneath them.