Once they were out the door, Maggie closed it and took a deep breath.
“Mags, what is going on?” I asked, trying to keep my voice low. Was there more to her mysteriousness other than Bernard moving to Chicago?
“Theo is on the phone,” she said, surprising me.
“Oh. Theo.” Upon saying his name, I felt a stir—a stir of longing that I couldn’t help, a Pavlovian response that immediately declared itself whenever his name arose. But then I remembered—Theo is being investigated by the U.S. Attorney’s Office.
I looked up at Maggie. She bit her bottom lip.
“What?” I said.
She took a breath. She leaned in and put her hand on my shoulder. “He’s in lockup.”
“Lockup?” I said, loud, surprised. “Lockup like he’s been—”
Her eyes locked in to mine. “He’s been arrested.”
16
The Metropolitan Correctional Center is something of an anomaly. A jail, yes, but its appearance is that of an ugly, triangular hotel tower. The MCC, as they call it, is perched on the edge of the lively Chicago Loop at Clark Street and Van Buren.
I’d never given the MCC much attention before because it housed federal prisoners, and most of the clients I’d been associated with through Bristol & Associates were in state court. I’d minimally (very minimally) gotten used to the 26th-and-Cal bull pens—the underground prison cells where county defendants waited to appear in court. The bull pens were pits of despair and trepidation, filled mostly with men who all fell quiet when you walked in, staring at you, staring for more than one purpose, you knew, not the least of which was that you were a lawyer, and therefore, their possible savior.
But now Maggie and I were off to see my boyfriend in the MCC. I had no idea what to expect.
We walked, both of us holding the collars of our coats close to our faces to protect from the Chicago wind that barreled down the street. “What if they rough him up?” I ask.
She shook her head quickly. “The Feds aren’t as into that as the county people can sometimes be.” She paused. “Plus, they know Theo is a businessman, so they know he’s smart. They know he can call a press conference with a minute’s notice.”
Maggie’s phone rang. She flipped it open, listened and said, “Great, thanks.” She took my arm and began steering me east. “He’s going before a magistrate to set bail.”
My phone rang. I had been gripping it inside my pocket. I pulled it out and my eyes shot to it. My dad. I’d been calling him since we left the office, leaving the NBC crew a little annoyed. I heard the reporter bugging Q for leads on what was happening.
“Where have you been?” I asked my father now, not bothering with pleasantries. I hadn’t often used an irritated tone of voice with him, and strangely it made me feel as if we knew each other better than we did.
“Looking into something,” he said unapologetically.
“Something to do with Theo?”
“No.” He said nothing else. Of course.
I told him that Theo had been arrested.
“Merda,” he said, speaking in Italian. Then translating. “Shit.”
“He’s apparently going before a magistrate shortly. We’re heading there now. But I need to know why, Dad. Why was he arrested?”
“Damn. I wanted to be able to tell you in person, to explain everything in a little detail. I had no indication they were moving this fast.” A pause. “Basically, they say he’s been bilking money ever since he started his company. They said he’s like Bernie Madoff. But smarter.”
“They’re alleging he’s stealing from the company? Or from the customers?” None of this sounded like the Theo I knew.
“Both.”
I was about to say that was impossible. Because Theo was the most honest person. Sometimes to a fault. He simply didn’t know how to lie, to deceive. But then I stopped the thoughts in my head. Because although Theo didn’t seem devious, not when I’d met him, not even as of late, there had been those other recent traits—vagueness, evasiveness, irritation.
But still. They were logical emotions given the mortgage problem and moving and a break-in. That was a lot to deal with. (Not to mention the fact that I’d added to his woes last night by admitting—okay, half-admitting—to an indiscretion of sorts with my ex.)
“This has got to be wrong,” I said.
“I hope so,” my father said. But his tone was bleak.
17
I looked at Theo, and I hoped he couldn’t see what I was thinking. No, I guess what I really meant was I hoped he couldn’t sense what I was feeling—like I was a little scared of him, like I wasn’t sure I believed him when he told me and Maggie that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Why? Why the mistrust?
When Maggie turned away to speak to a law clerk who had come into the courtroom, I faced him. I closed my eyes for a second and took a breath. And I cleared out my prejudices as best I could. Because isn’t that what Maggie and I were forever asking the cops and the prosecutors to do? To keep an open mind? Couldn’t I do it at the very least for my boyfriend?
When I opened my eyes, I looked him up and down, taking in his jail uniform, determined to be honest and forthright, to say the first thing that came into the foggy depths of my head. “You look good in neon-orange.”
I shook my head. Theo. He made me think, sex, sex, sex, no matter what the circumstance.
I heard Maggie issue orders to her clerk while we waited for the judge. Some attorneys came into the room and put their pleadings on their table. Maggie made a beeline for them.
Not much time. Had to get the sex off the brain, and get back to basics. “So,” I said, “what are they going to say?”
“I don’t know. I—”
“Yes, you do.” I realized we had to cut to the chase. The criminal courts, I had learned, do not allow for taking time to hold your clients’ hands. I adjusted the collar of my blue suit, sitting straighter. “I’m putting on my lawyer hat. And we don’t have time for bull-spit, okay?”
Theo’s face scrunched at my swearword replacement. Not one of my best, granted. Theo nodded, then looked grateful. And right then I felt good that I could contribute, that I could be Theo’s lawyer. When Sam had disappeared, I’d been so helpless until Mayburn let me work for him and let me contribute to the solution.
“Okay. Great,” I said. I gave him a stern face. “So, I don’t have time to draw this out of you anymore. You have to tell me—right now—what you know and what you don’t. No more secrets, Theo. I’m not just your girlfriend anymore.” I noticed, vaguely, that I’d directed the comment about “secrets” at him, not exactly including myself in the statement.
He nodded. Then, as if something occurred to him, he said, “Can you do that? Represent me, even though we’re…”
“We’re boyfriend-girlfriend?” I answered for him. “We’re living together?” God, it felt good to be taking over.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve heard of people being represented by their spouse, so we should have no issues there. Plus, you have Maggie.”
“You’ve always said she was one of the best attorneys in the city.”
“In the country.”
“Then I’m glad to have her.” He reached out and touched my knee. “But, Iz, thank you. I see what you’re doing, too. I see you.”
I’ve always disdained the expression about arrows piercing someone’s heart. But I got it, then.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll tell you what I know. They say they’re charging me with wire fraud and money laundering. But I don’t even know what that means.”
“They’re saying you were stealing from the company and from investors.”
“You already talked to the government?”
I shook my head. “My dad was looking into this situation.”
“Since when?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You asked him to?” He sounded disappointed.
“No. He decided to, on his own.” I sig
hed. “That’s kind of how he is.” I reminded myself that if I wanted honesty I had to return it, as well. “But once I knew he was investigating you, I didn’t stop him.”
Theo shook his hair away from his face. It seemed to irritate him suddenly. He raised his hands and tucked his hair behind his ears. “I didn’t steal from anyone.”
I took a breath, but I didn’t have a chance to say anything.
“Don’t you think,” Theo said, “that if I had stolen a bunch of money I could have bought that house I wanted? With cash?”
“I don’t know, I—”
“Wouldn’t I have a lot of money? Wouldn’t—”
“All rise.” Judge Diana Sharpe stepped up to the bench. Her eyes zoomed to Theo, silencing him.
A tall black woman who was said to have been a college hoops player stood above us for a moment, waiting for all eyes in the court to turn to her. Then she gave a regal nod and took a seat. A court reporter, clerk and her security detail—two U.S. Marshals in their thirties wearing cargo pants and blue shirts with gold stars embroidered on them—took positions around her.
Maggie scurried back to the table, giving Theo a confident smile and a squeeze on his forearm.
The U.S. Attorneys rattled off the charges against Theo and then everyone—Maggie, the U.S. Attorneys, the judge—spoke in shorthand. Soon they were talking about bail.
“We would oppose bail, Your Honor,” the lead U.S. Attorney said. He was Indian—Anish, his name was—and he was a lean and stylish guy. “Mr. Jameson owns a share of a corporate plane. He travels frequently to remote locations.”
“The travel that counsel mentions,” Maggie said, “is for things like skiing and surfing.”
I liked how confidently she said the statement, which could only have been dredged up from my ramblings about Theo when I first met him.
“Mr. Jameson does not have any family or personal connections overseas,” she continued, “nor does he have dual citizenship.”
“The corporate plane is equipped for travel to other countries,” the U.S. Attorney said. “Mr. Jameson could easily head to Midway Airport in the middle of the night and be gone before anyone is the wiser.”
“Mr. Jameson will forfeit his share in the jet until the charges are dropped,” Maggie said.
Now I liked how she talked as if the dropping of the charges were about to happen. I really, really hoped she was right, but the troubles Theo was having felt as if they were picking up steam.
Theo felt further away, too. He was scared. I could see that. If I were really honest, I’d tell him that I was, too.
The U.S. Attorney refused to give up. He continued his argument about why Theo shouldn’t be allowed out on bail. Every sentence seemed to make Theo itch to punch the guy. He was like a live wire.
Maggie argued that, in addition to the other factors she’d mentioned, this was “the first time Mr. Jameson has been arrested, much less charged, with anything at all.”
“Bail is granted,” the judge said finally. She then started asking questions about what Theo owned—a house, car, other property.
Maggie shot me a questioning glance, and I shook my head.
“Nothing, Your Honor,” Maggie said. “Mr. Jameson does not own any such property. We would request a cash bond.”
“Bond is set at fifty thousand dollars.”
Judge Sharpe stepped off the bench, and the U.S. Attorneys peeled out of the courtroom.
“Okay,” Maggie said, leaning in to talk to us. “So, Theo, we just need fifty thousand to get you out—”
“No, no,” I said, interrupting. “Five thousand, right? Because that’s ten percent of the bond?”
“Not in federal court,” Maggie said. “You have to pay the total amount. You guys figure that out, and, Iz, call me when you’re done.”
“Okay,” I said.
Maggie left. I felt a little relief. We would get Theo out of here, out of that orange jumpsuit, no matter how much he was rocking it, and we’d start to slow down.
But then Theo said, “Iz. I don’t have fifty thousand dollars.”
18
I sat in the chair of my home office, swirling back and forth and back again. My mind felt fuzzed out, overloaded. Synapses seemed to have slowed. Nothing was processing well. So far, I decided, this had been the longest Monday of my life. And it wasn’t even five yet.
Since I’d had to leave Theo at the MCC, had to watch him being led away by the marshals, I couldn’t seem to complete a full thought. I’d called Theo’s partner, Eric, twice and hadn’t heard from him. I’d emailed Eric twice, as well. I debated calling Theo’s mom or dad, but I didn’t have their numbers, and I was hoping to get a better handle on things before I made either of those calls.
I soon realized the swirling of the chair was making me dizzy and ramping up my frustration. I hated how black outside it was already. It felt as if it were nine at night. I looked down and saw I still wore my coat and my lavender-colored scarf. I took them off and threw them over one of Theo’s moving boxes.
After the hearing was over, I had asked Theo so many questions about HeadFirst. But either he knew little or he was closing himself off from me. If the former were the case, I couldn’t blame him. When I have big news or issues lingering in my psyche, I’m my first line of defense. I have to figure out at least few things before I can try and introduce anyone to the jagged shores of my mind.
If he were closing himself off from me, then… That’s where I kept going around in circles in my mind—thinking mostly about Theo and me and what that meant, and if he was okay, and if I was okay, and if he would be okay, and if he wasn’t okay, what did that mean, and how would he fare, and would we ever be okay?
I blinked a few times to try and clear away the endless questions. And my eyes landed on Theo’s moving boxes.
If you had asked me a few weeks ago what I would have felt upon seeing those boxes—in my house—I would have told you that, stacked one on top of another like that, they would make a sweet tableau, a physical reminder that Theo and I had entered a new time and were in a new state of our relationship. A good one.
But those boxes now felt hulking to me, taking up too much space in my office, when I didn’t know what was in them, what they could be hiding. I stood and took a tentative step toward them. Then another. I wasn’t a snooper—was completely opposed to it—and yet, although I hadn’t been tempted to look in the boxes before, they seemed to call to me now.
I should, I thought as I talked myself into it, check the boxes to see if they were empty after the break-in; see whether anything had been taken from them. You could never be too careful. And as Theo’s lawyer, I should see if there was anything in there that could be used in his defense. Anything that could explain the very puzzling development that Theo had no money that was liquid. He hadn’t been able to say more than that before the sheriffs had to take him away.
I took another step toward the boxes. Then another. The pulse in my ears seemed to get loud.
I blinked to try and scare away the odd feeling of dread that had fallen over me.
My feet moved another step. I stared at the words Theo had written on the sides in thick black marker—BOOKS, LACROSSE EQUIP, FOOTBALL EQUIP, TECH, PLATES/BOWLS, and so on. And I dove in.
An hour later, and I felt like a fool. There’d been nothing untoward in Theo’s boxes. To the contrary, everything pointed to exactly what he had told me about himself—his sports background, his ’70s baseball card collection, a book by Irving Stone about Van Gogh that he’d marked up and dog-eared extensively. It was his favorite book, he’d told me.
And what else had I really expected to find? Any business documents relating to HeadFirst would be at the office.
I was about to close the last box I’d rummaged through in a fugue state when I came upon a photo of Theo with his mom and dad. The image was of him as an early teenager who lacked the hormones and confidence of the Theo I knew. I peered at the picture, suddenly fascinated wit
h the thought of the younger Theo, the not-so-developed Theo.
I looked at my watch. Eric hadn’t called back. Maggie’s checks into whether he had been arrested as well were answered in the negative. But she’d also said that they could have someone in custody “for freaking ever.”
But certainly there must be something tangible I could do for Theo right now, some skill I must have learned over the years? C’mon, Izzy, think.
I reminded myself that during my thirty years, I’d been a law student, a law clerk, a lawyer, a private eye, an investigative reporter and, hey, even an underwear saleswoman. I had, I realized, accumulated some excellent skills in research (in addition to panty-folding). I should perform some research, that’s what I should do. I would figure out a way to help Theo, or at least to understand the basics of the problem. Because right now, he wasn’t getting out. He didn’t have any liquid cash. Maggie was calling various bondsmen, but she warned we might not hear anything until the next morning.
Where to start?
I slid into my chair and scooted toward the computer.
I did searches for loan defaults, focusing primarily on business loans. I didn’t know if HeadFirst’s problems with defaulting on such a loan had led to the allegations against Theo or whether it was a simple product of it, so I just studied general information. I learned that defaulting on a business loan could mean serious consequences for a business. If they did default, and if property or funds had been used to secure the loan, those could be confiscated.
I decided to back up a little. Instead of trying to jump into the middle of this situation, I should start at the beginning. With Theo himself.
I put Theo’s name into a search engine. When I saw how much was there, I decided to print out different articles or mentions about Theo or HeadFirst and study them. I approached them the way I did when preparing for a deposition or trial. I analyzed the documents for inaccuracies or irregularities or patterns. I studied the quotes. Nothing incongruous there. Everything showed Theo was a wunderkind of sorts, who’d graduated from high school, spent a year at Stanford and left to start HeadFirst, a web design software company, with his friend, and now business partner, Eric.
Question of Trust Page 7