Despite that, she’d still had to make the situation turn out in her favor. Every cell in her body had told her it was a fight for survival. Although she hadn’t actually imploded now that Brian had died, had she?
“Excuse me,” a startled Russian voice and the sudden brightness of the hall lights made Jessica take a frightened step back from the desk. A dark-haired woman, buxom in a pink uniform, entered. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here. You are his wife, no?”
“Yes.”
“I recognize from the picture. I am so sorry. A very nice man.”
Jessica caught her breath as the cleaning woman entered.
“Thank you. I was just coming to get some of his things.”
“Such a shame. I come in now and make sure to dust and vacuum even though no one works in here. You don’t want lights?”
“I just got here.”
The woman pushed a switch, flooding the room with light. “And your daughter, she is all right?”
“Oh, yes, thanks.”
The woman brushed a long dust mop over the desk. “Such a shame.” She clucked her teeth and shook her head. “Such a shame. Take care of your beautiful little girl,” the woman said as she turned to leave.
Alone again, Jessica looked around. Sleek ivory-colored file cabinets lined an unwindowed wall near Brian’s desk. Jessica knelt and pulled open the lowest drawer. Bloated accordion files filled it. She used both hands to lift out the first one.
Magic Marker lettering identified a name she recognized from a Florida toxic-spill case Brian had talked about. Was that the case that brought Brian to Miami? No. Brian had told her it was close to settling. It would have come up in conversation if that was why he was going. Funny, though, how she’d never heard what case brought him to Miami. She’d never even received a condolence call from the attorneys who had been with him the day he died.
She took her iPad from her shoulder bag and placed it beside her on the carpet. She thumbed through the tops of the manila folders inside the case’s larger accordion file. She pulled out a file labeled complaint and flipped through it, scanning for the dollar figure Brian had been suing for. At the end, she saw it: one hundred million dollars, a big one even if the demand was inflated. She jotted down the case name and amount.
Now she needed the name and number of the Florida attorney who’d farmed out the case. The way Brian had explained it, the person who was injured hired a local attorney, who referred out the big cases he couldn’t handle. The local attorney needed attorneys like Brian and Steve, who had specialized expertise and capital to cover the years of expenses before judgment. Both things were necessary. That was why Steve had recruited Brian. Steve had an ongoing firm with support staff and seed money to pay for expenses like travel, expert witnesses, investigators, photocopying—easily half a million dollars—in a big case. Meanwhile, Brian had a reputation as a litigator he’d gained working for other firms. He had relationships with local attorneys around the country who were happy to refer to him for a cut of the fee. Even if their statements were inadmissible in court, Jessica could spread the word about Steve to all the attorneys who planned to refer directly to Steve now that Brian was dead. Let Steve sue her for slander if he wanted. She had virtually nothing to lose. Thanks to him.
She smiled, some consolation in the thought as she put the file back. She remembered a conversation last year during a dinner out with Steve and Nicole, something the two couples had done frequently. Brian had been talking about a lawyer he and Steve worked with. “He’s a thief, that’s the bottom line,” Brian had said.
Nicole had looked around at the neighboring tables to see if anyone had heard. Her eyes glinted mischievously—they’d all had plenty of wine with dinner. “Watch your ass, Brian. He’ll sue you for slander if it gets back to him.”
Brian had leaned over and grabbed Nicole’s hand. “Truth is an absolute defense to slander, you know that.”
Steve laughed. “Right, let the old guy sue us. I’ll have the time of my life proving he’s a thief in open court. He’ll end up disbarred before we’re done with him.”
It was ironic that Jessica felt just like Steve now—except she didn’t have her own litigation firm to help her prove Steve was a thief.
She pulled out a second, slim file marked intake. She spotted the name and phone number of the referring attorney typed on the top sheet of paper. She laid it on the floor and copied the information into her iPad. The rest of her job would be easier now. Brian was as fastidious as he was smart. There would be a slim folder at the back of each case’s accordion file that would have the local cocounsel information. She worked quickly, listening for footsteps over the distant street sounds.
She closed the bottom drawer and moved up to the next one. She pulled out the accordion file for a case Brian had talked about a lot lately: the Etta Houses, an Indiana housing project contaminated with lead. She knew who’d referred that one. Steve and Nicole had been doing campaign fund-raising, hosting fund-raisers and bundling donations. The congressman’s referral of that case was the first big one the firm landed as a result. Jessica wrote down the congressman’s contact information but doubted she’d ever call him. She could guess where his loyalties would lie.
The next accordion file had an address in the Bronx written on it. No case name. She opened it, curious. It wasn’t full like the other accordion files, wasn’t divided into several manila folders either. Inside, she found a single document she recognized from the purchase of her home. In bold caps, it said contract of sale.
She frowned. Brian didn’t do real estate. He hadn’t even done the closing on her parents’ house. When they came to him wanting to sell the home Jessica had grown up in so they could downsize to a golf-course condo, Brian gave them the name of a lawyer he knew. He said he didn’t know enough about real estate and didn’t have time, in the middle of a busy trial schedule, to learn. Of course, just from the closing on their own house in Westchester, Brian had probably soaked up enough to do it himself, but he’d never expressed an interest. He had a lucrative practice, and the two fields didn’t mix.
A dark pain pricked at her. What else didn’t she know?
The contract said it was for a “multifamily residential building.” She took down the names of the seller and buyer. The buyer was Bronx Development, LLC. The seller was a company called Inwood Partners, LLC. Jessica had never heard of them. She’d read in the Sunday Times real estate section that wealthy people used limited liability corporations, LLCs, to hide who bought luxury property. The selling price was five million dollars. She shook her head, trying to adjust her eyes to the print in front of her. This closing was no favor to a friend buying a house. A person doing a five-million-dollar deal could afford a real estate specialist.
She flipped to the back page of the file. Brian had signed as the representative of the seller. Someone named Jordan Connors had signed for the buyer, the word “president” printed next to his name. Jordan Connors, it sounded familiar. She’d heard that name before, recently. She couldn’t remember when, but she was sure she hadn’t heard it from Brian.
She looked inside the file for phone numbers. Nothing. No number for the buyer or seller. Her nerves stood on edge. Every other file had contact information for the clients and opposing counsel. She put it back in the drawer and flipped to the next accordion file, a thick one with a case name printed across it. She pushed past it to the next one and the next, then slammed the file drawer shut. She looked at the time on her phone. She wanted to get out of there. The longer she stayed, the harder to explain her presence. And the longer she stayed, the more frightened she became that she was in the middle of something she didn’t understand, in a place she didn’t belong.
She pulled open the next drawer. Four files in, she found a file with an address. The Bronx again. The corporate buyer was another LLC. A twelve-million-dollar sale price. What the hell? Again, Jordan C
onnors signed for the buyer. Jessica scribbled the address and corporate names.
Suddenly, it hit her. Jordan Connors had called. His message had been on the answering machine. She’d erased it, thinking he was a salesman. What could he have wanted?
Then the sale’s closing date shot out at her: October 15. Two days before the fire … the day Brian left for Miami. She looked at Brian’s handwriting and the now-familiar signature of Jordan Connors. A deep sense of foreboding filled her again. Somehow, instinctively, she knew Jordan Connors hadn’t been calling to offer condolences—and that he would be calling again.
***
Emily hadn’t stepped foot out of the man-daughter cave since Jessica left. She’d gone through every piece of paper in the file cabinet and skimmed through her father’s accordion files, lined up against a wall on the carpeted floor. So much paper. Old school. Her father had said that lawyers still needed paper. Jessica had been down here earlier, looking through the stuff before she left. She thought Emily hadn’t noticed. Something was going on and, like usual, the kid was the last to know.
Emily sat down at the PC, planning to put an end to that particular status quo. Her father’s user account on the computer asked for a password. She typed it in—the license plate number of his car. He’d told it to her because he was the PC’s administrator and she couldn’t download any Minecraft updates on it unless she had his password.
She double-clicked on her father’s Outlook. She would never have done that when he was alive. Unlike most adults, she respected people’s privacy, and that was probably why her father trusted her. But he was dead, and she was too old to think everything was all right just because the grown-ups in her life said so. It wasn’t like anyone woke her up the morning her father died and said, hey by the way, your dad will be gone forever today, so don’t go around thinking it’s a regular school day or anything. No, Emily had trusted things would be normal—half-assed, boring, depressing, but normal, just like every other day. Now she wanted to know what was going on, why her mother and Jessica were so tense, and not just about Emily’s father dying. Something more was going on. Since no one trusted her enough to tell her anything, she had to take it upon herself to find out. She didn’t want any more surprises.
Emily scrolled down through her father’s emails. Spam, fantasy football, ESPN news alerts. She doubted he used this email account much, probably used his work network more. There wasn’t much here overall. Emily came to an email from PayPal: fraud alert. Idly curious, she clicked in, knowing the PayPal password for the same reason she knew the computer’s administrator password. He used to bitch about how she’d buy a video game and then, right away, she wanted an in-game purchase, a map or whatever. He would tell Emily to pay with PayPal. He didn’t want their Visa number on any of those sketchy sites.
Emily typed in her address in Manhattan: 440w181, to enter the PayPal site. Her dad had said that was his ATM code too, ever since he and her mother bought the apartment in Washington Heights, the first place he’d ever bought. Thinking about it, Emily was sure Jessica didn’t know Daddy’s PayPal password, or she would have figured out it was Lauren’s address and made him change it. The one downside of being a homewrecker was that you always had to worry about another woman doing the same to you, even the baby mama you stole your husband from in the first place. Jessica had to have known Emily’s father was basically fair game.
Once Emily was logged into PayPal, she clicked into the message about the fraud alert. It said there was a charge at a bar in Road Town, Tortola, BVI. Road Town again. The hairs on the back of Emily’s neck tingled. Plus, there were a bunch of other charges. She started scrolling, shocked. Besides Emily’s online purchases, she’d thought her father only used the family Visa and his firm’s American Express card.
His charges stopped on October 17 when he paid for a hotel in Miami.
Emily moved down to the next item in reverse chronological order. October 16: the Virgin Islands Yacht Club in St. Thomas. She sat back hard in her seat. Her father had gone sailing in St. Thomas? What could make him take a one-day sailing trip right in the middle of a case? Emily distinctly remembered, back when her father and Jessica were planning their honeymoon, he said St. Thomas was too touristy. They’d gone to Tortola instead. He’d explained that it was forty minutes from St. Thomas by boat and that even though the two islands were close, one was American and one was British.
He must have sailed to Tortola and the bar charge in Tortola was real, not fraud at all. But Emily couldn’t imagine him going for one day, and she also couldn’t imagine Jessica letting him leave her behind on a trip like that. He always left Emily behind but not Jessica. The glaring answer lit up Emily’s brain: Jessica didn’t know. It was another woman.
“Ugh,” she said aloud, totally frustrated. None of it made sense. He used a separate, private credit card. He went on a trip he didn’t tell Jessica about. He was talking in code about it on the PlayStation. What “other woman” would put up with talking in code on a video game? Emily remembered the look on her dad’s face like she’d caught him when she came downstairs while he was on the PlayStation. Was it even possible? That he was texting with a girl? Emily laughed aloud. No way. Her father could not possibly have dated a gamer. He was over forty, for God’s sake.
Her mind spun with all the confusing stuff. She was only vaguely disappointed in her father when it came to cheating. He’d never been exactly the best role model anyway. But she couldn’t come up with an explanation that fit all the pieces together. Her father was dead. Her mother was totally through with Steve. She’d even hired a lawyer. Jessica was being secretive. And why was Steve dissing them? The simplest explanation was that Jessica and Lauren had pissed Steve off somehow. Emily could easily imagine that—they sure pissed Emily off on a regular basis. So maybe, if that was the problem, Steve would talk to Emily. Maybe she could get to the bottom of things even if Jessica and her mother couldn’t. That would be a surprising twist for the adults in her life.
Emily pulled up her father’s Outlook contacts and looked up Steve’s number. She dialed and listened to it ring twice.
The sound of Nicole’s hello took her aback. Emily stuttered, “Nicole?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Emily. Isn’t this Steve’s line?”
“It’s the landline. Hi, Emily.”
“I thought you were out of town.”
“I flew in for the weekend. How are you?”
“You haven’t called.”
“Oh … I’ve been involved in an important deal. So much pressure. I’ve meant to.”
Hurt slipped into Emily’s words against her will, “Why hasn’t Steve called? He’s been in town. My mother’s trying to reach him.”
Nicole’s voice took on the tone of an adult talking to a little kid, “Oh, sweetie, I’m sure it’s just that Steve’s busy. I’ll remind him.”
“My mother’s mortgage is going to be late.”
“Emily.” Nicole sounded irritated now, like it was slipping out of her, too, “Let the grown-ups take care of their business. These things are complicated. Your mother is a lawyer, she knows.”
“What difference does it make that she’s a lawyer if Steve won’t call her back?” Emily wiped away tears. Nicole and Steve used to be so nice to her.
“You worry too much, and you always want to grow up before your time. I’ll remind Steve … okay? And we’ll talk soon. Gotta run.”
Emily heard a kiss noise before the phone disconnected. She pulled her cigarettes out and angrily paced the basement, the dogs scurrying out of her way. Plan A—trying to call Steve herself—hadn’t worked, not at all. But she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. She might only be sixteen, but that didn’t mean she was mentally handicapped. She was so effing sick of everyone treating her like she was. She was going to figure out what was going on if it was the last thing she did.
She sat down at the PC and thought for a minute. She opened the desk’s center drawer and began pulling out papers. There was nothing particularly interesting—pens, paper clips, sticky pads—until she felt something deep inside the drawer. A thumb drive. It was probably nothing, just a backup for her dad’s work, but she plugged it into the PC and double-clicked to open the file. Hieroglyphics instantly populated the screen. Oh. She took back what she’d just thought about her being beyond surprise. He had an encrypted file. She could see him having encrypted messages if he were cheating on Jessica, which he clearly was doing. But a whole file? She couldn’t help but marvel at how many questions she had after only a half hour of trying to find answers in her father’s basement.
She knew exactly what she had to do next. She picked up her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts to find Hector, a kid she knew from her old school in the city. He lived on the Upper West Side in the Douglas Projects, not far from their school. She remembered a story he’d told her. He was so proud of himself that his cousin was from Anonymous. Or at least his cousin used to be in Anonymous before he ratted his friends out. Everyone but him went to prison for a really long time.
Emily had to find out more about her father and she could think of only one way. She texted: “Hey H. Ur cousin, Tabu. Can U intro? Em.”
She would be the one keeping secrets now.
CHAPTER 15
Brian
Six Months Ago
Widows-in-Law Page 10