“If you don’t try to self-diagnose your medical condition, I won’t try to practice law,” the doctor replied.
The physician scrolled through the tablet in his right hand. “Your EEG and MRI studies were normal, and your heart is healthy,” he said. “You may have experienced a syncopal episode at the hospital. Are you sure it hasn’t happened again?”
“Positive.”
Dr. Bedford looked into Jakob’s eyes. “Since I’m not a lawyer, may I ask you a legal question?”
“Sure.”
“Assume you have a blackout spell that causes a car wreck in which another person is seriously injured or killed. Would a good lawyer investigate your medical history and sue the neurologist who failed to recommend that you stop driving for three to six months?”
Jakob’s hands felt sweaty. “That’s possible. And I wouldn’t want to hurt or kill someone anyway.”
“Then we’re in agreement. Don’t drive for ninety days. I think that’s a reasonable time period since you didn’t have a seizure and your other tests are normal. I’ll repeat the brain studies in three months. If they’re clear and you don’t have another serious episode, you should be okay. Schedule your next appointment in four weeks, but call sooner if you need to.”
“Ninety days? That’s a long time.”
“It’s less than six months, which would be the case if you’d suffered a full-blown seizure.”
“Okay. What about flying overseas?”
Dr. Bedford paused. “If you’re talking about a vacation where you relax on a beach, I’d write a prescription if we thought your insurance company would pay the bill. But no sports or recreational activity that would pose the risk of a blow to your head.”
“This would be a business trip without much chance of beach time, but I don’t foresee any physical activity, either.”
“Just be smart and treat your skull like you would an egg that’s in danger of cracking open.”
Jakob frowned. “That’s disturbing.”
“It’s meant to be.”
Jakob left the office. On the way home he debated whether to follow the physician’s advice. Georgia wasn’t a state where a doctor had the duty of notifying the department of transportation to recommend suspension of a patient’s driver’s license. That responsibility rested on Jakob. He sat in the car for a few moments, took out everything he might need in the near future, and trudged up the steps to his apartment. He tossed his car keys in the top drawer of the dresser of his bedroom and closed it. For the next three months, he’d be spending money on taxis and Uber.
Hana arrived a few minutes early at the ice cream parlor and parked her car in the shade of a large oak tree. Per Mr. Lowenstein’s instructions, an entry would appear on her work activity sheet for “Client Meeting/Ice Cream.” Sadie arrived wearing her school uniform. She waved excitedly when she saw Hana. In the little girl’s other hand was a doll.
“Thanks for coming,” Ben said, “even though eating ice cream isn’t the best way to prepare a child for a good supper.”
“Ice cream is made from milk that comes from cows,” Sadie replied. “And milk is good for making strong bones.”
“Then my bones are going to grow stronger from something with chocolate in it,” Hana answered. “Tell me about your doll.”
Sadie held up the lifelike doll. It had an olive complexion, dark eyes, and straight black hair and was wearing a long blue gown that fell from her neck to her feet.
“She’s an Arab doll,” Sadie replied.
Hana nodded. “I can see. My cousin Fabia wore a dress like that when she graduated from high school.”
“Fabia?” Sadie repeated. “That’s going to be my doll’s name.”
Hana took out her phone. “May I take a picture of Sadie with the doll and send it to my cousin?” she asked Ben. “I wouldn’t mention Sadie’s name or anything other than that she’s a new friend.”
Ben glanced down at Sadie for a moment before responding. “So long as she doesn’t post it on any form of social media.”
“What do you mean, Daddy?” Sadie asked.
“He’s right,” Hana responded before Ben spoke. “Hold Fabia so I can take a good picture.”
Hana knelt, took five photos, and then let Sadie pick her favorite.
“That’s the one I like, too,” Hana said.
The shop featured ice cream blended together on a thick marble slab. Sadie asked for strawberry mixed with peach in a cake cone. Ben and Hana both ordered a vanilla sundae with hot fudge. Hana added toasted almonds to hers.
Ben took his wallet from his pocket.
“No,” Hana said, placing her purse on the counter. “Mr. Lowenstein specifically instructed me to pay for Sadie’s ice cream.”
“Why?” Ben asked with a puzzled look on his face.
“He wants Sadie to grow up liking lawyers.”
They sat at a small round table toward the rear of the shop. They were the only customers.
Sadie handed the doll to Hana. “Fabia likes what you ordered.”
Hana placed the doll in her lap and pretended to give her a bite before placing it in her own mouth.
“The last thing I did with my mommy was eat ice cream,” Sadie said.
Hana, who was raising her spoon to her mouth, quickly lowered it. Sadie looked forlornly at her father.
“Here, Daddy,” she said, handing him her cone. “I’m not hungry.”
“I thought you were in the mood for ice cream,” he said gently.
“Not anymore,” Sadie replied, looking down into her lap. “You can throw it away.”
Ben gave Hana a look that communicated a silent plea for help. Hana didn’t have anything to offer.
“I’ll see if Fabia likes it,” she said, taking the cone from Ben and placing it in front of the doll’s lips. “I think she does.”
Sadie watched through the tops of her eyelashes. She held out her hand, and Hana returned the ice cream cone to her. Sadie took one more lick, stood up, and dropped the rest of it in a trash bin.
“I licked it one more time to show that I could,” she announced when she returned to her chair.
“What do you mean, sweetie?” Ben asked.
“Poppy says that when he gets sad about Mommy being gone, he does something like put a dirty plate in the dishwasher before letting himself be sad.”
Hana wasn’t exactly sure what Sadie meant or the lesson intended by her grandfather but left it alone. She held the doll out to Sadie.
“Fabia wants a hug,” she said.
Sadie took the doll and wrapped her in a tight embrace. “That works, too,” she said. “Daddy hugs me when I’m sad.”
Hana’s appetite was gone, but she made herself eat a few more bites, too. Ben’s ice cream had remained untouched since Sadie’s announcement.
“I guess we’d better go,” he said after a few moments passed.
They walked outside. There were clouds in the sky and a cool breeze that hinted of a thunderstorm.
“Thanks so much for inviting me,” Hana said to Sadie.
Ben opened the rear door of the car. Before Sadie hopped in, she came over to Hana. “Would you hug me?”
“Of course.” Hana knelt and wrapped her arms around the little girl, who nestled in as close as possible.
“You smell nice,” Sadie said when she finally stepped away. “Do you wear perfume?”
“A little bit.”
Sadie turned to her father. “I want to smell like Hana.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Ben answered, managing a slight smile.
“That means ‘no,’” Sadie said to Hana. “But I’ll change his mind.”
“Not every time,” Ben replied.
Sadie slipped into her car booster seat, and Ben closed the door. He turned to Hana. “Maybe she was talking today about Hurva Square with her counselor,” he said. “It comes up quick sometimes.”
“I’m glad she asked me to hug her. It made me feel better.”
> “There will be more hugs at home.”
Back at the office Hana had a note from Jakob requesting a meeting with her and Ben at his office the following day at noon about the status of the case. Hana checked her calendar and accepted. As she scrolled down, she saw an email from an unfamiliar address. Because it had made it past the law firm firewall, she opened it. It was from Bart Kendall.
Hana,
Thanks again for meeting and talking with me. I considered what you said and decided to proceed with the BDS project. My church is going to be one of the sponsors. I recently met with a young Arab man who grew up in Bethlehem. He has a compelling story of suffering under Israeli occupation and will be the spokesperson in the video. Because of my conversation with you, I’d like to include a brief statement that not all Arabs share his perspective. Would you be willing to do that part of the video?
Bart Kendall
Hana read the email several times as she processed it at different levels. The first was the personal hurt she felt from Bart rejecting what she’d said. Second, she dealt with anger that the producer was going to place another pebble on the mountain of offense that existed between Arabs and Jews. Third, she grieved that Bart’s church was going to perpetuate the problem, not be part of a solution that could occur only through the power of the gospel.
She started to type a quick response turning him down but decided she needed to ask God what to do first.
CHAPTER 13
The following morning Jakob requested an Uber driver to take him from his apartment to the office. Four responses popped up, and he selected one. On the way to the front of the apartment complex, he stopped by his car to retrieve a spare office key from the glove box. The dome light didn’t come on when he opened the car door, and he realized that he hadn’t turned off the headlamps the previous evening. The car’s battery was dead. Jakob had been too busy to take the vehicle in for needed maintenance, and he quickly decided this would be an ideal time to take care of it. He called Tony, his mechanic, who agreed to send a tow truck to pick up the disabled car.
“No rush,” Jakob said. “I’m not going to be driving for a while. I’ll leave the keys under the front mat.”
“I’ll check it over from bumper to bumper and let you know what I find.”
Jakob stood on the sidewalk near the entrance of the apartments. A MARTA bus lumbered by. Riding the bus to his office would require a couple of transfers. The Uber driver arrived in a bright yellow subcompact.
Behind the wheel was a young woman in her late twenties or early thirties with short blond hair and multiple piercings in both ears. Her car was immaculately clean. Without asking Jakob why his head was swathed in bandages, she handed him her card as he got in the rear seat. The driver’s name was Emily Johnson. The car was a five-speed manual transmission with startling power. Classical music blared through the car’s speakers.
“Is that Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto, opus 35?” Jakob asked.
The car came to a halt as a traffic light turned red.
“Yes,” the driver answered.
“Julia Fischer or Itzhak Perlman?”
“Perlman, but I like Fischer, too,” the young woman said, glancing in the rearview mirror at Jakob. “Are you a musician?”
“No, but my mother plays viola for the Long Island Symphony. Our family immigrated to the US from Russia when I was eight years old. My mom made my sisters and me listen to classical music all the time when I was a kid.”
The light turned green. The driver skillfully navigated her way through traffic to Jakob’s office.
“Would you be available later today?” Jakob asked when they reached his building.
“When and where?” the driver responded. “I go to music school in the evenings, but I try to stay in the loop for the north side of town until four o’clock.”
Jakob didn’t anticipate the deposition that would start at two o’clock taking more than an hour and a half. “Let’s say three thirty,” he said.
“Okay,” the young woman replied. “I’ll text a reminder ten minutes before the time to pick you up.”
“Don’t be late.”
“No worries. I know how to come in on cue.”
Hana stepped out to Janet’s desk. Her assistant was putting labels on subfiles for one of Mr. Collins’s clients. Hana glanced around to make sure the two of them were alone.
“Do you think you can get me a copy of Mr. Lowenstein’s investigation of Jakob Brodsky?” she asked. “I know he checked him out, but I’m not sure what that includes.”
“It could mean a lot of things. Did Mr. Lowenstein refuse to let you see it?”
“No, otherwise I wouldn’t ask you to help me.”
“You’re so honest,” Janet sighed. “What does that feel like?”
Hana rolled her eyes.
“Don’t answer,” Janet continued. “Let me see what I can find out without getting either one of us in trouble.”
Hana returned to her office and closed the door. Twenty minutes later there was a knock and Janet entered. She placed a thin stack of papers on Hana’s desk.
“Here’s the dossier on Mr. Brodsky, courtesy of Gladys Applewhite.”
“Did she ask Mr. Lowenstein if it was okay to give it to me?”
“He’s busy. Mr. Lowenstein values people who can think for themselves and make independent decisions. Gladys and I decided you can read the papers and then shred them, leaving no trail on your computer.”
Hana didn’t touch the stack. “This makes me nervous,” she said.
“I’m ramping up the drama,” Janet answered. “Gladys didn’t see a problem with it since you’re going to be working with the guy, and she has your back if Mr. Lowenstein raises a question about it.”
It took Hana a few seconds to catch up to Janet’s meaning. “I think I understand,” she said.
“Read away,” Janet said, turning to leave. “I thought it was very interesting. Brodsky isn’t your typical young sole practitioner scraping out a living. He has ideals. He’s handled a bunch of cases no other lawyer would touch for people who deserved representation. The more I read, the more I liked him.”
Thirty minutes later, Hana agreed with Janet’s conclusion. Jakob Brodsky was the kind of lawyer who chose to fight for justice, even when it might not be in his financial interest to do so.
Jakob washed his hands and looked in the mirror. The area around his right eye was now a vivid purple. When he touched the knots on his skull, they were rock-hard and didn’t yield to gentle pressure from his fingertips. When he returned to his office, his phone buzzed. Ben and Hana were there to see him. Jakob went downstairs and introduced Hana to Maddie. The receptionist eyed the female lawyer closely.
“How are you feeling?” Hana asked Jakob as soon as they were in his office.
“Better if you weren’t keeping me in the dark about what’s going on with Ben’s case.”
“I told Jakob about your plan to travel to Israel,” Ben interjected.
“I thought we could discuss it today,” Hana replied.
Prepared to vent his frustration, Jakob was stopped by Hana’s tone of voice when she responded.
“You did?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve talked to one candidate, but Mr. Lowenstein recommended I conduct further evaluations in person while beginning our own investigation. I’ve not bought a plane ticket but want to leave soon.”
Jakob touched the bandages on his head. “When I asked my neurologist about traveling overseas, he said it was fine so long as I avoided contact sports or extreme recreational activities. I’ll be ready to go when we fly to Israel, but I need the date as soon as possible.”
“Let me tell you about my conversation with the first investigator,” Hana said.
“Did you record it?” Jakob asked.
“Yes, but we spoke in Arabic.”
“Then you’d better translate into English for Jakob and me,” Ben said with a smile.
As Hana summarized her c
onversation with Sahir Benali, Jakob thought about a local investigator he’d hired a couple of times. The man was a former police officer with extensive contacts and the ability to navigate shady situations.
“He sounds legitimate,” Jakob said when Hana finished.
“I agree,” Ben added. “We need someone who isn’t afraid to tackle the situation.”
“He sent me a follow-up email.” Hana reached into her purse and took out a sheet of paper.
Jakob extended his hand, but Hana didn’t give it to him.
“The email is in Arabic, too,” she said.
Hana went on to describe how, in the email, Benali had explained that he would conduct his investigation under pretense, similar to an undercover police operation. That meant he would adopt a fake identity as a man interested in helping to fund terrorist activity.
“That’s so he can gain access and protect his safety,” Hana said.
“Do you think that would work?” Ben asked.
“It could,” Hana replied. “Mr. Benali certainly doesn’t lack confidence.”
“The recommendation from your former colleague at the airport is important,” Jakob said.
“I agree. She also gave me the name of another man. I’ve tried unsuccessfully to talk to him a couple of times, but he sent an email saying he was interested in the job.”
“He doesn’t sound very interested to me,” Jakob said. “What’s his name?”
“Daud Hasan,” she replied. “His name is vaguely familiar to me, but I can’t place him. He has an office in Beit Hanina, a large Arab suburb of Jerusalem. He forwarded a half-page résumé that left out more than it told, but he did serve in an intelligence unit in the IDF. Not the famous 8200 group, but one that deals with terrorist activity directed at soldiers.”
“And he’s an Arab?” Jakob asked.
“With a name like Daud Hasan, the answer would be yes,” Hana replied.
The room started spinning, and Jakob shut his eyes. He heard Ben speak his name.
“Jakob, why don’t you pull up his website?” he said.
“For who?”
“Daud Hasan.”
Jakob shook his head to clear it, but the room didn’t stabilize. “Listen,” he said. “I haven’t eaten anything today except two cups of coffee, and I need a snack. Maddie keeps stuff at her desk. Would you like me to get you a pack of crackers or a piece of fruit? She usually has bananas and apples.”
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