“Oh, it’s all very real,” Paul said, smiling.
“I hope y’all agree,” Isaac said. “I really wanna to buy locally whatever we can. That builds our local economy and creates jobs. Y’all okay with that?”
“Of course,” Paul said. “That’s the whole idea. This is a beautiful town. Frankly, the ripple effects of projects like this help everyone, and that’s what this is all about, right?”
“On another matter, Paul,” Ahmed said. “I hope you don’t mind but I invited Naomi to come for a visit. She’s finished her term at Cambridge and is planning to take the next one off. We could use her skills.”
“How’s that?” Paul asked.
“She’ll be going into her fourth year of engineering.”
“Perfect!” Paul said.
“Thanks Paul,” Ahmed said. A smile brightened his face.
“I’d better get back to court now,” Paul said. “I should let you know, I’ll be away for a few weeks. While I’m gone, why don’t you two set up an office on the property? That way you’ll be on site for the planning and construction.”
Isaac and Ahmed looked at each other and grinned. Both young men were proud of the trust Paul was placing in them. They knew without discussion that Ahmed would be the project planner and Isaac would be in charge of construction.
Paul decided not to tell them just yet that they would become co-owners of the development once it was completed.
His cell phone rang. Paul stood and walked away from the table so he wouldn’t disturb the two young men as they excitedly made plans.
“Mr. Winston, this is Adam Mendez, manager of First National here in Rogersville. We met this morning.”
“Yes, of course, Adam,” Paul said. “What can I do for you?”
“We seem to have a problem with your purchase of that old motel and the adjacent property,” Adam replied.
“How so?”
“Evidently a competing bid is being honored by the seller instead of yours,” Adam said.
“I thought the bank was the owner?” Paul said. “You gave me the keys.”
“Yes,” Adam replied. “But First National did not own the property. Our real estate division was acting for the owner, some kind of a shell corporation. I’m afraid our transaction appears to have fallen through.”
“That’s not possible,” Paul said. “The seller, whoever they are, accepted our offer and the funds have been transferred in full.”
“I thought so, too,” Adam said. “The seller claims there was a problem with your confirmation. You were to sign a copy acknowledging their acceptance and return it to them. Evidently it never arrived. As we both know, the funds were transferred electronically while you were here, Mr. Winston, but the other bank, Fidelity Bank in Kingsport, says they’ve placed the money in an escrow account. Their attorney claims failure to acknowledge their acceptance has invalidated your offer. I must ask you to return the keys.”
“I’ll call my attorney and let you know,” Paul said. “For your information, I did sign that acknowledgement. I’ll have him call you.”
He dialed the number for Allen Sorokin, the Rogersville attorney Malcolm had retained to handle the purchase.
“Allen Sorokin, please,” Paul said. “Paul Winston calling.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” a pleasant female voice said. “Mr. Sorokin is away from the office.”
“Can you tell me where I can reach him?” Paul said. “It’s rather urgent.”
“He’s out of the country, Mr. Winston,” the woman said. “I’m not at liberty to release his number. Can someone else help you?”
“Is there another attorney in your office?” Paul asked. He was under the impression Sorokin worked alone.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll put her on.”
“Kirby Clark,” a voice said. “How may I assist you?”
Paul introduced himself and explained the purpose of his call.
“Mr. Sorokin didn’t brief me on that transaction,” Kirby said. “I’m filling in for him while he’s away. I don’t see it among the files he left. Let me check further and call you back.”
Paul returned to the table. Both saw the look on his face.
“Okay,” Ahmed said. “Something’s up?”
Paul filled them in on his conversation with Adam Mendez.
“Aw shit!” Isaac said. “Just my kinda luck. Sorry. It’s my fault. I jinxed this whole damned deal for you fellas. I’m real sorry.”
“Nothing of the kind,” Paul said. “I’m not about to give up on this. I have to get back to court now. We’ll talk over dinner. Why don’t you invite George Spencer to join us?”
After Paul left, Isaac looked at Ahmed and said, “I think we’re screwed.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Ahmed replied.
***
Paul had just returned to the hotel from court when his phone rang.
“Mr. Winston, it’s Kirby Clark.”
“Yes, Kirby.”
“We should meet.”
“Your office?”
“No, somewhere private.”
“I’ll pick you up,” Paul said. “We can talk in my car. I’ll be there in ten minutes... around the corner from your office?”
“See you then.”
As Paul pulled over to the curb, a strikingly beautiful middle-aged woman, tall and willowy, was standing on the sidewalk dressed in a dark blue fashionable business suit. She walked over and got in.
“You’re trusting,” Paul said.
“I recognized you, Mr. Winston,” Kirby replied.
“Call me Paul.”
“Okay, Paul. Kirby, please.”
They shook hands.
“There’s a picture of you in your file. Looks like it was taken at McKinney’s Restaurant. It’s a bit grainy but you’re recognizable.”
“That’s odd,” Paul said as he pulled away from the curb. “I don’t recall anyone taking pictures of me.”
“Odd indeed,” Kirby acknowledged. “But not as bizarre as what else I found.”
Curious, Paul listened while Kirby explained that she had searched Sorokin’s private office looking for Paul’s file, to no avail. Her last hope had been a safe she’d located behind a bookcase in Sorokin’s office. It was locked. Kirby said she checked every possible hiding place for the combination until finally turning over Sorokin’s desk pad. There it was, written on the lower right corner. In the safe were several files, including Paul’s, and bundles of bills with bank wrappers adding up to more than $25,000. On top of the bills was an incriminating handwritten note that helped to explain the problem with Paul’s real estate transaction.
“The confirmation document he was to send back to the seller’s attorney was still in your file,” she said. “It was never sent. My guess is the other attorney was not expecting it either. The goal was to delay long enough for the competing bid to get processed. His notes make clear that Sorokin was helping someone deliberately derail your transaction and he was paid that cash to do so.”
“Who was the other party bidding for the property?” Paul asked.
“A private corporation... a shell company,” Kirby said. “I searched the corporate registrations. The sole owner is a man named Albert Semaka.”
“That’s very interesting,” Paul said. “This is beginning to sound like something for the authorities.”
“I might as well tell you now, Paul, I am one of those authorities,” Kirby said. “All of Sorokin’s records have been seized.”
Paul glanced sideways at her and waited for her to continue.
“Sorokin had advertised for an articling student to babysit his office while he and his wife are away on a river cruise in Germany,” she said. “He hired a young law graduate but she took another job. I’m her temporary replacement. We found her that other job.”
“We?” Paul asked.
“The Tennessee Board of Professional Responsibility,” Kirby said. “I’m a forensic attorney and an investigator for the Boar
d into corruption and other professional misconduct by attorneys. As one of Sorokin’s clients, and evidently an aggrieved party, you are entitled to be privy to what I am doing here. You should know that yours has not been the only case of suspicious activity in that office.”
“I see,” Paul said. “What happens now? I have two young men anxiously poised to go to work on those properties. They’re in the process of hiring workers.”
“We’re going to court,” Kirby said. “I believe we have sufficient evidence to prove your proposed transaction was fraudulently derailed and should be allowed to proceed as you intended. That’s for a judge to decide. But it’s a good thing you dated your signature on that confirmation document.”
“I guess I’d better find an attorney to represent me in court,” Paul said.
“Not necessary,” Kirby said. “You’re free to do so but I’ll be representing your interests in court.”
“Are you going to prosecute Sorokin?”
“Yes, when he gets back. Professional misconduct among other charges.”
“What about Semaka and his shell company?” Paul asked. “It looks like he’s behind all this. Will you be prosecuting him?”
“Yes,” Kirby replied. “Along with the FBI.”
“How soon can we get into court?”
“Tomorrow,” Kirby said. “The Board alerted the judge about my investigation. I called him while I was waiting for you.”
“What about Sorokin’s secretary?”
“She’s only worked there a few weeks,” Kirby said. “I’m certain she’s innocent but I thought it best to meet outside the office just in case. For extra assurance, the judge has issued a restraining order prohibiting her from communicating in any way directly or indirectly with Sorokin or his wife. She’ll get the order when she arrives for work tomorrow. Before the new secretary was hired, Semaka’s wife worked as his secretary; she’s likely as culpable as he.”
“I need to speak with my guys right away,” Paul said. “Where can I drop you off?”
“I’m at The Inn.”
“Great!” Paul said. “Me too. Would you like to join us for dinner? My treat. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “It would be my pleasure.”
“I should warn you,” Paul said. “There’ll be four of us men and only one of you.”
“Oh good,” Kirby said, smiling. Her mature brown eyes sparkled mischievously. “That should make it just about even.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Two Weeks Later
Westland Place
“Someone named Mr. Daniel Stonechild is here to see you, My Lord,” Mrs. Shackleford said on the intercom. “He doesn’t have an appointment... says you know him.”
“Danny Stonechild!” Paul said. “Well I’ll be damned. Please send him in.”
The door to Paul’s cavernous office shot open. A stalky man wearing a permanent tan and flamboyant clothing strode through.
Paul jumped to his feet and walked quickly across the expansive buff colored carpet.
“Dan! You old reprobate!” Paul said. They embraced warmly. “I haven’t seen you since the International Pow Wow at Fort Yuma Indian Reservation, right?”
Dan nodded and smiled.
“You were representing Canada’s Assembly of First Nations!”
“You’ve a good memory, my friend,” Dan replied. “Back then you were still wrestling books and steers, I think!”
“Close,” Paul replied.
The two college buddies smiled.
“You know, we’ve been friends since we were boys,” Dan said. “And yet we haven’t seen each other in what six... seven years now? That’s awful! We have to do better my friend.”
“You’ve got that right!” Paul replied.
He grabbed Dan by the shoulders and looked his shorter friend up and down:
“What’s with this elaborate get up?” Paul said. “A deerskin outfit with magnificent multi-colored beadwork. Wow! Impressive! I’ve never seen you in full ceremonial dress. Hey, you didn’t need to dress up quite so much just to come see me!”
Both men laughed.
“I came from Buckingham Palace,” Dan said. “Her Majesty The Queen was gracious enough to invite the AFN to one of her Jubilee celebrations. This is formal attire to meet the Queen.” Dan tugged at the two long black braids hanging over his shoulders, one in each hand, and chuckled. “Paul, you should have seen the looks I got on the way over here. I think the cabbie thought he was going to be scalped! He’s been watching too many old westerns.”
Both men laughed again.
“Seriously, Paul, it sure was tempting to ask the Queen’s help to enforce our rights. Treaties signed by Her Majesty’s predecessors and enshrined in Canada’s constitution. The provisions are the law, yet they’re being ignored.”
“Let me guess,” Paul said. “Pipelines and treaty rights, much like in America.”
“That’s a big part of it,” Dan said. “But that’s not all... not by a long shot. The most serious challenge we’re facing right now is not pipelines or treaty lands, although they’re crucial. What we’re facing right now is a horrible, horrible epidemic... an epidemic of suicides among our young people... our children!”
“An epidemic of suicides?” Paul asked.
“Yes,” Dan said, his voice shaking. “Forgive me, Paul.”
“Take you time, my friend,” Paul said gently. He was sad to see his friend in distress.
Paul walked over to a water cooler and poured a glass. Dan nodded his thanks. He took a sip and continued:
“In the last three months, seven kids between the ages of ten and seventeen have killed themselves, Paul, in one small region. They were children! My God, Paul! Seven! Seven children in four communities... three of those children were from just one tiny community. This is not unique to that area... kids are committing suicide all across our country! It’s horrible!” He paused again. “You know, Paul, what worries me is I think it’s going to get worse... much worse!” Dan’s voice faltered again and trailed off.
“What on Earth is causing it?” Paul asked.
“Despair,” Dan said. “Despair. These kids have no hope for their future. Almost everyone around them is an alcoholic or on drugs... parents, their friends, their aunts and uncles, the parents of their friends, and sometimes even their older siblings. The kids don’t want to be like the others, but they see no way out of a future like that. They’re choosing suicide as a better option. That’s terrible! Terrible! No one in government seems to see the connection between this horrible tragedy and its failure to live up to its obligations.”
“What can I do to help?” Paul asked.
“I didn’t come here to burden you,” Dan said. “I shouldn’t have got carried away like this. I just came to say ‘hello’ to a friend. I’m sorry, Paul. I should leave.”
Dan stood.
“Please stay, Dan,” Paul said. “Don’t you remember when we were undergraduate students together at the University of Colorado in Boulder?” he added. “We shared everything. Right? Our hopes, our fears, our wins and our tragedies! We got each other into trouble at times and we got each other out of trouble most of the time.” Paul smiled.
Dan nodded. The memories evoked a weak smile.
“Here we are again, my friend,” Paul said. “Time to share again... time to work together again. What do you say?”
Dan’s smile was strained but stronger. “Have you got time for this?”
“Of course I do,” Paul said. “You’re my friend, Dan, and you need help. I’m deeply humbled that you feel comfortable sharing this with me. It’s a tragedy... a terrible tragedy. Please tell me what I can do to help.”
“When we were students, you were always the one who could see the big picture... see the positive side of things,” Dan said. “Would you be willing to meet with some of our elders?”
“Absolutely!” Paul said. “Tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.”
“Excellent! It would be a great honor to spend time in their presence... to listen to their wise counsel,” Paul said. “As I’m sure you know, very similar problems are festering away in America, and in Australia and Mexico and elsewhere. Okay, let’s see about a time for that visit. We’re going into winter now, so you had better promise me some damned good fishing in your country next summer. I’ll be back. Count on it!”
Dan smiled back. “Consider it done!”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Hale Springs Inn
Rogersville, TN
“I was out to the jobsite early this morning,” Isaac said. “Found this on the door to our offices. We need to talk, Ahmed.”
They and Naomi had just sat down for breakfast in McKinney’s Restaurant. Isaac unfolded a piece of cardboard and handed it to Ahmed.
“Aw crap!” Ahmed said. “I got enough of that in England... here, too?”
The writing scrawled in black said,
GO HOME TERRORIST!
GET THE HELL OUT
OR
WE’LL SEND YOU
TO HELL!!!
“Y’all think we should tell Paul about this?” Isaac asked.
“Not yet,” Ahmed replied. “Dammit! We don’t need this shit right now!”
“That’s scary,” Naomi said, glancing at Isaac. “We can’t just ignore this. It’s horrible!”
Ahmed looked at his friends with mixed emotions. From the moment Naomi and Isaac had met, he’d seen the immediate attraction between the two. As their relationship blossomed he came to realize his fondness for Naomi was in fact a big brother-like protective caring about her.
Naomi pointed at the bottom of the cardboard, bringing his thoughts back to the present. There was a clumsy drawing of a noose.
“This really is scary,” Naomi said. “We need to call the police.”
“Naomi’s right,” Isaac said. “This ain’t just graffiti; it’s a threat. That’s agin the law. I’m tired of sitting back and letting crazy people get away with this shit! I grew up here,” he added. “The bastards who did this are rednecks. They do stupid things. Put a couple of beers in ‘em and they’re pretty much outta control. It might not stop at this.”
Secret Shepherd Page 20