Question of Trust

by Laura Caldwell

  “Do you know,” Maggie said to him, “do you know what it’s like to be pregnant?” She leaned forward as if she was going to wait for his answer, but just as fast, she sat back. “No, you wouldn’t know. You’re a dude. There are some things you can’t do.”

  José Cortadero’s sneer turned toward confusion.

  “You wouldn’t believe the power it gives you.” Maggie placed a hand on her belly. She let her eyes widen, unblinking. She was excited now, and she knew he could hear it in her voice.

  José Cortadero sat back in his chair a little. His gaze now made it clear he thought Maggie looked like a madwoman. He was kinda right.

  “So do you want to test-drive me? Huh?” she continued. “Please, God,” she looked to the heavens, “give me a chance to take this one on.”

  The silence from José was ticking now, with a steady hum in the background—a mixture of voices and clanging cups and saucers.

  “But listen,” Maggie said. She let her intensity soften a little. She took a little breath and put her hand to her chin in an exaggerated show of thought. “I’m thinking of something else. I’m thinking that I can go in there—” she pointed to the federal building across the street “—and I can resign from representation of Mr. Theodore Jameson, because the fact of the matter is…” She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening, then she looked back at José. “The prosecutor, Anish, wants a plea agreement from Theo. But I’m about to go over there and talk to him again. And I believe I’m going to convince him to drop the charges now.” She’d spoken to Izzy last night long enough that she knew about Anna. She knew enough to get the ball rolling with the prosecutors in the right way.

  She dropped her gaze abruptly to his. “You’re the one they really want.”

  Cortadero’s expression hardened again. “You little bitch…”

  “Ah!” Maggie said, a finger pointed at the sky now. “Don’t go any further, because I was about to tell you the good news.”

  Some kind of low sound came out of Cortadero’s mouth, some kind of growl.

  “The good news,” Maggie said, “is that I no longer represent Theodore Jameson—” she paused for effect “—and I know where your money is.”

  Cortadero’s expression cleared. He blinked once or twice. “You shitting me.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  He looked out the window toward the federal building. Maggie hoped he was thinking about being on trial there, how he would want the best possible lawyer, because his ass would be on the line if the Feds found everything they were looking for.

  “And yet you understand the situation,” Cortadero said. “You understand what the Feds are doing with this case, trying to get info on us so they can shut down the other families, too, can find out where they have their money.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re hired.”

  73

  It’s Thanksgiving. Again. Now that the case is finally over, Maggie and Bernard are throwing a second Thanksgiving dinner at their South Loop apartment. Maggie really wants to do it, she tells me. She never gets to have a holiday at her house—it’s always at her parents’ or her grandparents’ or one of her married sisters’ places—and now that she is having her own family, she wants to practice.

  I know that the real reason she has done this is because of me. And Theo. And all of us wanting a little celebration and a lot of normalcy.

  Theo helps me take off my coat. As I do so often since we found his mother in our apartment last week, I look at his face, taking in his expression, reading his mood. “You okay?” I ask. I say that a lot now, too.

  He gives a silent nod, then a small smile. But that quickly fades.

  One week ago, we found out that it was Anna Jameson who was behind the disappearance of HeadFirst’s money. Not Brad Jameson. Well, Brad Jameson had used some of that capital. A lot, in fact. But not enough to bankrupt the company, to have them default on commercial loans. He kept more than enough money in the States for the business and had even more in the trust in Rarotonga.

  When he’d founded that trust, he had, as a matter of rote, listed Anna as a trustee. Not only was she his former wife, who he loved like a sister, but she was also the one who would manage things if—God forbid—anything happened to Theo.

  After a while, he forgot she was even on the trust. And so when the money started leaving, then continued to bleed, he’d scrambled for an answer. Who was behind it? The bankers became cold to him, wouldn’t tell him as much as they had before, because technically even though he was the one they’d done business with—the one who had settled the trust with funds that he brought—their fiduciary duty was to the trustee. And one of those was draining the trust.

  It took him forever to even suspect Anna. Theo was listed as a trustee, of course. Eric, too. He thought at first maybe Eric was to blame.

  He knew Anna hated him, although she painted a different, prettier picture for outsiders. Really, she despised him for leaving her, for not supporting her during her breast cancer. But shit, he didn’t have the money at the time.

  Once he realized it was her, he had gone to Rarotonga, Brad had told us, to see if he could plead with the bankers to let him know where she’d transferred the money, but of course they wouldn’t tell him.

  And then we found Theo’s mom in our condo. We’ve since learned the location of the accounts where she’d deposited the money. And Theo is a wealthy man again, and one without any federal charges against him. Just like that.

  As Theo introduces himself to some of Maggie’s family, I take my protective gaze from him and instead, watch my best friend as she flits between guests, filling drinks and talking about the baby. I notice that many new things, à la Bernard, that Maggie has allowed to take up residence in her sleek apartment. Stacks of sheet music have appeared on end tables, colorfully painted straw mats hang in frames on the once-white walls. Bernard is in the kitchen making Filipino egg rolls, and Maggie, a hand often on her belly, has never seemed so happy.

  “Mags,” I said, taking her aside for a second. “About José Cortadero. I’m proud of you for the wheeling and dealing. Especially with Theo. The fact that they dropped the charges is amazing. And I know you wanted the Cortadero business back. But maybe this is the time to not rely on them. You know…”

  “What are you trying to say? I should get a different kind of client?”

  “Well, yeah, maybe.”

  She laughs. “Izzy, you have to remember you’re in the criminal defense world now. This is the kind of client we want. And don’t forget—”

  “Everyone deserves due process,” I say, because she has coached me well. “Everyone. We can’t pick and choose who gets treated fairly by the system and who doesn’t.”

  “Exactly.” She smiles. “And I know you still want a job, and so does Q.”

  “Hell yeah,” I say and I turn away fast because I really, really don’t need the stress of being out of work again. And I don’t want to rely on Theo because I think he needs a little break. From everyone.

  As I walk into Maggie’s living room, I see Theo talking with Maggie’s grandparents. Her sisters and brothers are there, too. Q and Shane have arrived and they are entertaining the nieces and nephews, picking them up and tossing them into the air, so that shrieks of joy punctuate the event.

  Eventually, Theo moves to my side. I’m sipping a glass of champagne. Him, a beer.

  “Man,” Theo says. He says the word with a sigh. He says it heavily, as if just that one syllable alone is making him think.

  Mayburn and Lucy are there and they come up to us. My eyes shoot downward, because I notice they are holding hands. A moment later, when Lucy goes in search of one of her kids, I look at Mayburn.

  “So,” I say, “now that Lucy is out of sight, I’m sure you want to take this opportunity to berate us about setting Lucy up with C.R.”

  “Hey,” Theo says. “We didn’t set them up. They were both out and they met.”

  “
That’s what I’ve been telling Mayburn, here, but he doesn’t want to listen.”

  “I listened,” Mayburn says. He sips from a bottle of Coors Light, and I notice that he looks better than he has lately—fuller in the face in a good way, and stronger, somehow. “And I actually want to apologize.”

  “What?” I cough up some champagne.

  “Yeah,” Mayburn says, ignoring my sputtering, which I’ve dialed up now in an exaggerated effect. “Lucy says that going out with that kid made her realize she wants the real thing.” He points to himself. “A real man.” He grins in only the way that someone in love and truly clueless about everyone else can do. Then he registers Theo in front of him again and the smile recedes. “Sorry, dude,” he says to Theo. “No offense to you or your buddy. It’s just he was young and I’m not and…hey, I don’t think age matters, and you’re clearly on top of your game....” He looks at me for help, but I just give him a shrug.

  Theo, of course, takes it in stride, smacks Mayburn on the shoulder good-naturedly. “I get it, dude. No worries.”

  Mayburn makes an escape soon after that and when it’s clear we’re alone for a minute, Theo takes me by the hand and leads me to a couple of chairs in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the sun is setting over the city, giving everything a pink-orange glow.

  I stare out at it, sigh a little. I used to notice sunsets in the city all the time.

  When I look back at Theo, he is on one knee in front of me. “Whoa,” I say, the word out of my mouth before I can think it.

  He laughs. “It’s not that. I’m not asking you to marry me. Not yet.” He laughs again. “It’s just… Well, I don’t know what this is. My life, I mean. I don’t know what will happen now—with the Feds or the company.”

  He shakes his head. His hair is growing back, but he says he’s keeping it short for a while. I will always miss his long hair.

  “Iz,” he says, “I just wanted you to know that no matter what happens from here, no matter where we go or what we do…” He looks down, then up at me, takes both of my hands in his. “I love you.” He looks at me, not like he is waiting for me to speak, but like he’s just released something pent-up inside him. “I love you,” he says again. “I feel like you are family.” He looks down at the ground, and I know he is thinking about his father, who he has only spoken to once since Rarotonga, and about his mother, who knows that when she gets out of Northwestern’s psychiatric ward, she is going to be charged with murder-for-hire. Theo has already retained counsel for her, hiring someone based on Maggie and Martin’s recommendation. He has to do that for her, he says. And according to her lawyers, Anna has hope. It’s possible if it goes to trial that she might get off, since she didn’t hire the guy specifically to kill Kim. Or to kill anyone at all. They found the guy from the car dealership in Florida and brought him back to Chicago. He was claiming self-defense, so who knows what will happen with him?

  But none of that mattered to Theo right now, I could tell. We’d talked long about this. And sadly, he felt as if he went from being an only child to being an orphan. To him, he was alone in the world now. He might have a relationship with his parents in the future. But he didn’t know. And so I was family for him.

  I didn’t have to look hard for a response. “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  Two months later, I receive a postcard from Theo. The front shows a beach in Thailand. He writes that the surfing is amazing. He does not mention when he will return, because I have told him many times I understand his need to escape for a while. To regroup. To regain himself.

  That you were there, that’s what matters. Not what happened before or where we are now, but that you were there for all this. And because of that I am better. I am okay, Iz.

  I love you, the postcard says at the end. Remember, no matter what. I love you.

  * * * * *

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Amy Moore-Benson and Miranda Indrigo for shepherding the book. Thanks also to everyone at MIRA Books, especially Michelle Venditti, Valerie Gray, Donna Hayes, Dianne Moggy, Loriana Sacilotto, Craig Swinwood, Pete McMahon, Stacy Widdrington, Andi Richman, Andrew Wright, Katherine Orr, Alex Osuszek, Erin Craig, Margie Miller, Adam Wilson, Don Lucey, Gordy Goihl, Dave Carley, Ken Foy, Erica Mohr, Darren Lizotte, Reka Rubin, Margie Mullin, Sam Smith, Kathy Lodge, Carolyn Flear, Michelle Renaud, Kate Studer, Stephen Miles, Jennifer Watters, Amy Jones, Malle Vallik, Tracey Langmuir, Anne Fontanesi, Scott Ingram, Marianna Ricciuto, John Jordan and Brent Lewis.

  A massive thanks to Loyola University Chicago School of Law—a vibrant, creative and generous place to work. And especially to Father Michael Garanzini, Dean David Yellen, James Faught, Michael Kaufman, Jean Gaspardo, Alice Perlin, Michael Patena, Alan Rafael and Joyce Marvel.

  Much gratitude to my experts―criminal defense lawyer Catharine O’Daniel, former federal prosecutor Professor Mary Ramirez and my Cook Islands insider, Margaret Caldwell. Thanks also to Carol Miller and Liza Jaine.

  ISBN: 9781459222809

  Copyright © 2012 by Story Avenue, LLC

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com