Beth sat down across from Max’s desk and opened her tablet. Max sat down and reached for a yellow legal pad.
“Where’s the iPad I bought you in St. Thomas last Christmas?” she asked, exposing his resistance to electronic notes.
“I left it on Red Sky with your mother.”
“Figures.”
“Hey, the bookkeeper told me some landlord called today to check your references. Why didn’t you tell me you were looking for a place?”
“Sean’s helping me find a sublet while I look for a place to buy.”
“What’s the rush? We have plenty of room for you in our condo.”
“I’m thirty-two years old. I don’t want to live with my mommy and daddy anymore.”
“I feel like I disrupted your life by coming back without any notice.”
“Nobody planned on Clifford’s death.”
“I still feel bad.”
“When Sean and I broke our engagement, I only moved into your place because it was vacant and the price was right.”
“I didn’t even know that Sean was back in the city.”
“But I emailed you and Mom about it down in Antigua. He was promoted to special agent in charge of the FBI’s New York field office.”
“You two back together?”
“Just old friends.”
“Seeing each other?”
“Too early to tell.”
“Does that mean it’s none of my business?”
“It means I noticed your right hand shaking on and off at the partners’ meeting. What’s doing with that, Max?”
“It started last month when I was working on our engine. The doctor on Antigua thinks it’s early Parkinson’s, but says I won’t need that L-Dopa med for another year or two. Just don’t mention it to your mother. I haven’t told her yet.”
“Oh, Max, I’m sure she’s noticed.” Beth was devastated by his disclosure. “I’m so sorry.”
She fought back tears and got up to give him a hug.
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’ll let you know when it’s time to worry.”
“Okay, I understand.”
“And whatever you do, don’t tell anyone in the firm.”
“Of course not.”
“Now let me tell you a few things about this New Jersey matter with the BMI Alumni Association. It’s got to be complicated because of Bordentown’s history.”
“How so?”
“That whole part of town is designated as an historical district. Been that way for years.”
“So you can’t change the building façades,” Beth said. “No big deal.”
“But the designation in Bordentown also applies to tunnels.”
“ ‘Tunnels’?”
“The district is filled with tunnels dating back to long before the Civil War, and some of them run under the Old Main parcel.”
“What were they used for?”
“Depends on what stories you believe. It was either for buried treasure, the underground slave railway, or escape routes for Joseph Bonaparte.”
“So the alumni have an emotional investment in protecting them,” she said. The mere thought of an escape tunnel caused her imagination to race ahead. The fantastic stories it could tell.
“The Old Main was home for them during their formative years.”
“And each one of them could be a client of ours someday.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, let me begin a conflict-of-interests check.”
“You know all the relationships but might as well start with my past chairmanship of the board of trustees.”
“Could be conflicts all over the place. Can I use associates from corporate?” Computer keys clicked as she made notes.
“Of course. Why even the question?”
“Elias has been pissed since Clifford made me head of real estate. I know he’s met with two other firms just since Clifford died.”
“I’m having lunch with him today. I’ll take care of it.”
“He’s not my favorite partner. Ready to fight with anyone over the slightest thing.”
“I said I’ll take care of it.”
“Excellent. What else?” Beth asked.
“Dig into Gartenberg and LaVerne. Find out what they’ve been up to lately.”
“Okay.”
“And check into Shadenheim also. He got suspended for a while because of that Gartenberg fraud case.”
“Will do.”
“We should take a ride out to Bordentown and look over the campus. I’ll ask Tripp to join us.”
“Sounds good,” Beth replied.
“How does Monday look for you?” Max asked her.
“I can postpone a settlement conference in the morning, but not a league basketball game I’m playing in at night. It’s a playoff game.”
“We’ll be back in time.”
“Got to be…”
“While you’re at it, let’s vet a couple of law firms in the Bordentown area so we have local counsel ready to assist us.”
“Already made that note. Anything else for now?”
“No, we’re good. Hey, did New York activate my license to practice yet?”
“Last week, and the office manager also notified our insurance carrier, so your malpractice coverage has been confirmed also.”
“Just checking.”
Chapter 3
Max took one bite of his Caesar salad and got right to the point. “Elias, I’ve heard that you’ve been talking to other firms about leaving us.”
“I figured that was on your mind, Max.”
“You can remain here as a partner, but I want you to resign as head of our corporate law department.”
“A lot of us began looking around after Clifford died. Are you going to punish everyone?”
“You’re the senior partner and a department head. The others took their cue from you.”
“But Max, I haven’t made any inquiries since you came back. I want to stay.”
“That remains to be seen. I’ve also decided to make Beth managing partner of the firm.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, Max. She’s your stepdaughter.”
“Don’t give me that nepotism crap. She’s the most qualified.”
“A lot of the attorneys here think I am.”
“You need to get over Clifford promoting her to head of the real estate department last year.”
“The job was mine. I earned it.”
“Clifford did what he thought was best for the firm, and that’s just what I’m doing now. You need to be an asset to us or you need to leave.”
“Things have changed since you left.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Let’s discuss it after you’ve been back for a while.”
“Okay, but if you decide to leave us, keep in mind that we have a detailed noncompete clause in our partnership agreement, and I’ll expect you to honor it.”
“This is the only firm I’ve been with since you hired me out of law school.”
“And you’re a talented attorney.”
“Thanks Max. I appreciate that.”
“Okay, let’s change the subject. How are you doing otherwise?”
“As a matter of fact, I had drinks with Herb Gartenberg a month or so ago. He asked me to become his general counsel because Zeke was looking to retire.”
“You’re still here, so I guess you turned him down.”
“I had to—it just wasn’t right for me.”
“I didn’t know you kept in touch with him.”
“He was in my squad in my junior year. After you hired me to work here, he even used me as a reference for his real estate broker’s license.”
“Well, just be careful about any conversations wit
h him now that we’re representing the Alumni Association.”
“Come on, Max. Herb’s not a bad guy.”
* * *
—
Chord Masters’s fury approached hysteria at the other end of the phone. “Herb, you’re the buyer we made the deal with. You can’t take in LaVerne as a fucking partner!”
“Of course I can, Chord,” Gartenberg replied calmly. “Read the contract we signed. You’re the seller’s attorney; you wrote the damn thing.”
“But you and I made a side deal, and it’s not in the contract!”
“My investors insisted that I bring in LaVerne. He’s a developer and I’m not.”
“I only got F. X. Smythe to agree to sell the campus to you because we had our side deal.”
“Then you should really be talking to my attorney, Zeke Shadenheim, about my assignment rights in the contract.”
“Don’t give me that crap. You didn’t get away with it at BMI and you won’t get away with it now.”
“Don’t threaten me, Chord.”
“Screw you! I control land use in Bordentown, and my price for approval is half a million dollars.”
“And I have a right to take in a partner.”
“What about our side deal? You owe me half the money before the Planning and Zoning Commission meets.”
“We still have a deal, so stop worrying about it.”
“Just remember that without subdivision approval, you and LaVerne have nothing.”
“You’ll get paid.”
“When?”
“As soon as we file our application.”
“I expect the whole half million. You’ve waited too long already.”
“You’ll get $250,000 up front just like we agreed, and the other half when our application gets approved.”
“Just get me my money.”
“I will.”
“You people are all the same.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know what I mean.”
Chapter 4
Paulo Pendayan, chairman of Carib-Petrol, the giant Venezuelan oil conglomerate, remained seated in his family’s church pew when Father Beyhorto invited the congregation up to receive Holy Communion. As one of the two major benefactors of San Ignacio de Caracas, he was given the honor of waiting for everyone else in the congregation to finish their communion before walking alone down the aisle to receive his. His ex-brother-in-law, Nikko Benetez, the other major benefactor and head of the Benetez international drug cartel, sat in the row behind him, prevented by two civil divorces from participating in the ritual.
“I’m considering a real estate investment in the States,” Paulo said to Nikko as they stood outside the church after the service. “It’s our old BMI campus. Herb Gartenberg is building a huge housing project on it.”
“Bordentown? Does it involve the tunnels?”
“No.”
“How much do you want from me?” Nikko asked without hesitation.
“Don’t you want any details?”
“Have I ever asked you for details? Just make sure that nobody touches my tunnels.”
“They’re in a parcel that’s not part of the deal.”
“Por qué?”
“Gartenberg is keeping that parcel for himself.”
“So I’ll buy it from him,” Nikko replied.
“I’ll ask him.”
“Either I own the tunnels, or I need to destroy the tunnels.”
“Comprendo.”
“Bueno.”
“Our investment is thirty-five million,” Paulo said, and then continued. “The accountants figure that with tax write-offs, we’ll double it over five years.”
“What’s Gartenberg’s share as managing partner?”
“One-third of profits and losses. We get two-thirds.”
“Gartenberg’s not a builder.”
“We’re already handling that. I had Carlos tell him to assign half his end to Al LaVerne. Al’s a developer, and the twins went to BMI with him.”
“Bueno.”
“I’ll be the only limited liability partner, so you can take half of my investment if you want,” Paulo said.
“When do you need El Señor Verde?”
“We’re still checking out a few things, but I’m ready to lend Gartenberg $3.5 million for the up-front deposit and expenses.”
“And the rest?” Nikko asked.
“I’ll let you know in a week.”
“Not a problem.”
“You flying home to Aruba tonight?”
“No, I’m staying in Caracas. Early meeting tomorrow. You?”
“Same here. I’m interviewing a candidate for vice president of purchasing.”
“Paulo, what happened to my second cousin Donato?”
“Had to fire him.”
“Que pasa, mi hermano? How come?”
“He bought a couple million dollars’ worth of corrugated steel for some of our drilling sites, and it all turned out to be worthless Vietnam War surplus. He was in on the scam.”
“Just like his father. Want me to take care of him?”
“Not now, Nikko, but maybe later. Thanks for the offer.”
“De nada.”
* * *
—
Precisely at 1:00 P.M. on Wednesday, the Pendayan twins, Carlos and Moses, joined their father for lunch in the luxurious conference room connected to his suite of offices at Carib-Petrol. It was time for a final decision on the deal with Gartenberg.
Wednesday lunch had been a tradition since their days at BMI, when they spent their summer vacations working on company oil rigs. It had continued through their years at MIT and Harvard, when they rotated through every menial job their father assigned them. Even though they were now co-presidents of the company, they still deferred to their father, chairman of the board.
“It’s a good investment for us,” concluded Carlos between mouthfuls of grilled swordfish.
“I agree, Carlito,” said his twin brother, Moses, still using the diminutive to remind his brother that he was eleven minutes older.
“It’ll give us a good place to invest U.S. dollars,” said Carlos.
“Can we set up gas stations and a heating oil company to service it?” asked Moses.
“I’ll check with Gartenberg,” replied Carlos. “Maybe your son Juanito can run it when he graduates next year.”
“Juanito wants to tour Europe for a year.”
“Maybe it’s time he learned how to work.”
“Just like your son?” said Moses.
“That is not funny.”
“Sorry, Carlito,” said Moses.
“Forget it.”
“When do Gartenberg and LaVerne want the money?” asked Carlos.
“Soon,” replied Moses. “Their attorney keeps asking who the actual investors are.”
“It’s none of his business. They know that.”
“But the IRS won’t let us hide behind shell companies anymore.”
The elderly Paulo Pendayan spoke up for the first time. “We’ll let the lawyers handle that, but what concerns me more is whether Gartenberg and LaVerne can build a subdivision this big.”
“There’s a few lawsuits against them we’re checking out, Papa,” Carlos replied. “Otherwise, LaVerne has a pretty good reputation, and Gartenberg vouches for him.”
“Comprendo,” said Paulo. “Oh, and Uncle Nikko wants in.”
“Debemos, Papa? Must we let him this time?” asked Carlos.
“He spoke to me after church Sunday. He wants in.”
“His cartel is on every watch list in the world,” said Carlos.
“Their money is the same color as ours.”
“But ours is from oil,” Carlos countere
d. “They sell la miseria.”
“Sharing opportunities with them is the price we pay for security here in Venezuela,” said Paulo.
“Papa is right, Carlito,” said Moses. “The last thing we need is another kidnapping.”
“Or another explosion at one of our refineries.”
“Uncle Nikko it is, then.”
Chapter 5
Beth watched quietly as Max stared at the Old Main. Stone chimneys stood stubbornly erect at each end of the Federal-style building, dispassionate monuments to what once was. Between them, there was only the shell of the former Bonaparte mansion with its shattered windows, exposed interiors, and damaged roof.
“You okay?” she asked softly, breaking into his silence, her hand resting gently on his sleeve.
“In my mind, it’s still in perfect shape.”
“That’s the best way to see it, Max. I’ll handle the realities.”
“It was a simpler world then,” he reflected, still absorbed in thought. “White gloves and Class A uniforms. The cadet corps marching in Trenton on Memorial Day with me carrying my saber at the head of Charlie company.”
“Six foot two and eyes of blue,” she replied, making him smile. “Bet you were some cool dude.”
“I remember Tripp and I got totally lost once exploring the tunnels underneath the Old Main. We were so late for dinner that the colonel made us march penalty tours for the next three days.”
His musings were interrupted by the sight of Tripp Masters’s car pulling into the parking lot, followed by a silver-blue BMW.
“You didn’t tell me that Judge Masters is also a fire chief,” Beth said, nodding toward his red SUV with the gold fire chief shield on both front doors.
“He’s third-generation fire chief, and that’s his nephew Chord in the Beemer.”
“Got it.”
“If you get a chance, take a look around before you go over to the building department in the town hall.”
“And ruin my shoes in the mud?”
“C’mon, let’s go.” He laughed as they got out of Beth’s car. “Time to earn a living.”
“Good to see you, Tripp,” Max began as the two exchanged handshakes and pats on the back. “You already know Beth.”
“Pleased to see you again, Judge Masters.” Beth smiled respectfully, reaching out to shake hands.
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