“What the—?” Connelly asked as she handed it to him and plunged her arm back into the chest, all the way up to her armpit.
“There are multiple layers of packages this exact size and shape at the bottom. I mean, hundreds of them.”
Connelly was fanning through the bills. He rocked back on his heels. “There must be five hundred one-hundred-dollar billa in here. I mean, I’m estimating. But I think it’s—”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
She eyed the chest, doing the calculations in her head. “There could be a hundred and sixty of those packages in here. Four layers of forty. Easily.”
“Which would make sense. A chest this size wouldn’t be completely filled by a quarter cow, but a side of beef would be too big to fit. So the top layers are meat.”
“And the bottom layers are … eight million dollars?”
They stared at each other.
Sasha spoke first. “Remember when you said any self-respecting smuggler would have stuffed those bears with hundreds. That you could ship ten million dollars for the same weight as two?”
“Yeah. I know what you’re thinking—What if the shipper was supposed to send hundreds but changed some out to twenties so that they sent the weight that the recipient expected to receive, but in the wrong denomination?”
“Yeah.”
“That would be a ballsy move.”
“Or a rookie one, because it failed dramatically.”
A door shut upstairs. They both jumped.
Connelly hurriedly rewrapped the cash and shoved it back into the freezer.
Sasha leveled out the bottom layers and spread the meat on top.
“We should get back.” Connelly said.
“Back upstairs? Or back home?”
“Home. I think we both have work to do.”
She nodded. “We’re going to have to bring him with us. Now I really can’t let him out of my sight.”
“I know. I’ll ask Chief Clinton to come back after we leave and secure the building.”
“Clinton? What about Dill?”
“Screw that guy.”
Sasha raised her left eyebrow.
He relented. “I’ll tell Omar. And I’ll call Hank.”
“Okay.” She lowered the lid quietly and latched the freezer shut.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry—about your client. I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
So am I. So am I.
30
The United States District Court for the Western District of Pennsylvania,
Courtroom of the Honorable Clifford J. Cook, presiding
Monday, 10:55 a.m.
Sasha gave Clive an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand under the defendant’s table. He looked like hell. His broken nose was still badly swollen and misshapen, and he had sprouted two black eyes overnight—a delayed side effect of the broken nose.
But he was standing with his shoulders straight and pulled back. His spirit was unbowed. For now.
She felt okay, as far as that went. She could have used another gallon or two of coffee this morning, but Connelly had cut her off once her speech reached what he called ‘chipmunk’ speed.
Brett Waters came down from his table in front of the judge’s bench and crossed the well to lean over and whisper, “Is Emerson coming?”
She glanced at the empty prosecution table to her left. “I talked to him at around eight o’clock this morning. He was planning to be here.” She raised her shoulders in a shrug.
Brett winced, no doubt anticipating his boss’s reaction to another no-show in this case. Then he reached out a hand to shake Clive’s.
“Good luck, buddy,” he said before he returned to his table.
As she’d suspected, the news of Clive’s ordeal was already spreading throughout the courthouse. He looked surprised by the attention.
Oh, you have no idea, Clive. You’re going to be a celebrity by noon.
A buzzer sounded, summoning Brett to the judge’s chambers. As he was walking out, the court reporter walked in. It was Mia, Sasha’s hands-down favorite court reporter because she was fast, accurate, and told hilarious raunchy jokes if you caught her after a few vodka tonics.
“Is this the man of the hour?” Mia stage whispered, tilting her head toward Clive.
Sasha nodded. Clive flushed pink under his bruises.
At precisely eleven o’clock, the door from chambers opened, and Sasha and Clive popped to their feet. Brett strolled into the room followed by Judge Cook, who proceeded to the bench at a stately pace.
At the same time, the doors from the hallway banged open, and Assistant United States Attorney Emerson Thorne raced into the courtroom, clutching a redweld to his chest. He ran up the center aisle and skidded to a stop when he reached the bar that separated the gallery from the courtroom action. He wisely opted to walk the rest of the way.
He was arranging his files on his table when Judge Cook cleared his throat. “How nice of you to join us, Mr. Thorne.”
“Um, Your Honor, the courtroom clock says it’s exactly eleven o’clock, which is the same time I have.” He held out his wrist as if to prove that his watch matched the wall clock.
“Mr. Thorne, my sainted mother used to have a saying. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes? I mean, yes, Your Honor.”
“If you’re early, you’re on time; if you’re on time, you’re late; and if you’re late, you’re fired. What are you, Mr. Thorne?”
“On time?”
“No, you’re late.”
“Then, am I fired?”
“What?”
“I don’t think I understand your mom’s saying, sir. If I’m considered late for being on time, then am I fired for being on time? Sir?”
Sasha choked back a laugh, but just barely. She wondered if Emerson had Irished up his coffee this morning.
Based on his purple-tipped ears, Judge Cook was about ready to blow, but at least she wasn’t the cause of his ire for once.
It was as if he’d read her mind. He stopped glaring at the prosecutor and turned his gaze on her.
“Ms. McCandless-Connelly, what results did your research yield this weekend?”
She bit her lip and tried to figure out what he was talking about. Friday seemed as if it had happened a lifetime ago. Then it came back to her.
“I’m so sorry, Your Honor. I … I didn’t have an opportunity to look at the ramifications of subsection (c)(1)(B) this weekend. My apologies.”
“Oh, well, if you’re sorry that makes everything okay, does it?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“And what, Ms. McCandless-Connelly, was so important that you simply elected not to answer this Court’s question?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s not that it was more important, Your Honor. But I was … well, Mr. Bloch was abducted on Friday, which is why he wasn’t here. When I went looking for him, I unfortunately witnessed a murder and then attacked a man with a spade and, long story short, Mr. Bloch and I were held against our will without access to the internet. So I didn’t have an opportunity to do the research.”
“That was Saturday, correct?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You escaped these captors, did you not?”
“Yes, Saturday night.”
“So, Sunday was a day of rest, I take it?”
“Actually, I ended up stumbling into the middle of an opioid-trafficking ring on Sunday, so … there was a lot.”
Emerson piped up. “If I may, Your Honor? The Department of Justice has prepared a certificate of appreciation for Ms. McCandless-Connelly in recognition of her bravery and service to the government this weekend. The Attorney General thought you might like to give it to her. I have it right here.” He waved the redweld.
Judge Cook glowered. “A certificate of appreciation? Please tell the Attorney General that she can do what she likes, but this Court doesn’t cotton to part
icipation trophies and declines to award Ms. McCandless-Connelly her certificate.”
Sasha was biting down as hard as she could on her lower lip so as not to dissolve into a puddle of laughter, and Clive was looking around the courtroom bewildered, as if he was trying to figure out where the Punk’d camera crew was hiding.
Emerson turned to Sasha, tapped the redweld, and mouthed ‘I’ll give this to you later.’
She nodded discreetly and turned her attention back to the judge.
Judge Cook looked from her to Clive and back. Then he said, “As I said, this Court is not one for certificates. This Court does, however, appreciate courage, valor, and determination. Accordingly, the Court is happy to expedite today’s proceeding and concludes that the terms agreed upon by the parties are abundantly fair and will enter both the sentencing agreement and the non-prosecution agreement should the parties still wish to enter those agreements into the record.”
Game time.
She steadied herself by gripping the edge of the table. “Your Honor?”
“Yes, Ms. McCandless-Connelly?”
“Counsel for the defendant requests permission to file a motion to withdraw.”
“I beg your pardon?” Judge Cook appeared to be too shocked to react with anger. That was a first.
Beside her, Clive was whispering furiously, bewildered and confused and, no doubt, frightened.
As you should be, you utter piece of crap.
“I’m afraid I can’t represent Mr. Bloch to the conclusion of this matter, Your Honor.”
“You realize, do you not, that this matter will be concluded within the next ten minutes?”
“Yes, Your Honor. But under Rule 1.16(b)(3) of the Rules of Professional Responsibility, I think I need to do this now.”
Judge Cook narrowed his eyes. Emerson kept his gaze glued to the floor, as Sasha had suggested he do when she called him earlier in the morning. Clive yanked on her arm.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Do you need a moment with your client, counselor?”
“That might be helpful,” she said placidly.
“Let’s take a ten-minute recess.”
Brett popped to his feet. “All rise.”
They stood while the judge swept off the bench and back to his chambers. Then Emerson bent his head over his cell phone, determined not to engage with Sasha and Clive.
She yanked Clive’s arm and dragged him out into the hallway.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
She poked him in the chest, backing him up against the marble wall. A U.S. Marshal, who was lounging a little too casually against the opposite wall, straightened up.
“You okay, miss?”
“Yes, thank you, officer.” She smiled at him
And thanks for the marshal, Emerson. Nice touch.
She turned back to her soon-to-be former client. “What’s going on, Clive, is that you have used my services to perpetrate a crime. Or you’ve attempted to, at least. And under Rule 1.16(b)(3), it’s my option to withdraw as your attorney under the circumstances.”
He gaped at her. “I don’t … what are you talking about?”
“Connelly found your freezer full of hundred-dollar bills, yesterday.”
“No—”
“Yes. He was looking for something to feed everyone. He found more than he bargained for.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I think I do, actually. You and Aliviyah were in it together. When Al Shariq needed to move ten million dollars to Yemen, the two of you devised a scheme to rip him off by stuffing the bears with twenties rather than hundreds.”
“I … that’s ….”
“Don’t bother. I’m talking. You’re listening. What was the plan, pocket the eight million and point the finger at the guy in Yemen, claim he took it?”
“No—”
“What, then?”
He sagged as if he had just realized that lying was futile. “We didn’t care if Al Sharqi knew it was us. We figured we’d be long gone before the shipment made it to Yemen.”
“But you hadn’t counted on the weight differential.”
He nodded miserably. “So, when the FBI found the money, Liv convinced me to take the fall, you know? Just play the poor sap accountant who got suckered into donating teddy bears to terrorists. We figured we would still run away together before the trial.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Right, because Recreation Group recommended you to represent me, and Liv and I realized you were actually going to be able to get me off without jail time. Al Sharqi wasn’t convinced I had ripped him off. He thought it might have been the freight forwarder—how paranoid is that? By sticking around and taking a plea without implicating him, it proved my loyalty.”
“So, what was the plan? You’d fill your freezer chest with hundreds and disappear after the sentencing hearing?”
He nodded miserably.
“But then the star-crossed lovers decide to double-cross each other.”
“I don’t know which one of us had the idea first. I was getting worried that if we left together, the Aminis would never stop looking for us, and we’d live our entire lives in fear. So, honestly, I was going to suggest that maybe we could just split the money evenly and go our separate ways, but I knew she’d get upset. I was still working up the nerve to bring it up, when I had an unexpected weekday free and I showed up at the cabin and found Liv digging up the garden bed. She said she was looking for these fake Saudi passports she’d gotten us, but I knew she was looking for the money.”
“Why would she think it was in the garden?”
“Because that’s where we agreed to hide it. So rather than split the money, I figured I’d just take it all. I acted like I believed her and casually mentioned that I had decided the garden was too exposed and had moved it to my apartment in Pittsburgh. I thought, at worst, she’d hire someone to trash my place and take the money. I never imagined she’d have me kidnapped. I still don’t know what she was thinking.”
“I do. She knew if she could keep you from showing up for sentencing, there was a good chance you’d end up serving a fifteen-year-minimum sentence, which would have given her all the time in the world to find the money. She’s smarter than you are.”
He frowned. “She never would’ve found it.”
“You don’t think she’d eventually check your freezer?”
“Nope. Liv only eats halal. So I ordered a quarter beef. That’s a hundred pounds of non-halal meat. She was furious. I made sure it was delivered while I knew she was at the cabin, and then I made a big production out of loading it all into the freezer.”
“Then what?”
“Then, when she left, I took all one hundred pounds of beef back out of the chest, loaded the packets of bills on the bottom, and replaced the meat on top. She was never gonna dig through all that unclean meat. Especially when she saw me loading the empty freezer with beef. Who’s the smart one now?”
She smiled coldly. “I am, Clive.”
He shook his head. “You can’t really just withdraw at the very end of the case like that, can you? Don’t you owe me some kind of duty?”
“It’s an interesting question. Under the Pennsylvania Code, an attorney may make an optional withdrawal under a series of circumstances, including where, as here, the client uses the lawyer’s services to commit a crime. But the very first circumstance is when ‘withdrawal can be accomplished without material adverse effect on the interests of the client.’ And even though the subsection uses ‘or’ not ‘and’ as the conjunction there is some precedent that says I have to do it in such a way so as not to materially harm your interests.”
“That’s great, then. You can’t withdraw.”
“Can’t I?”
A shadow fell over his face. “What do you mean?”
“Your legal interests won’t be harmed if I withdraw. The Department of Justice has agreed to honor the deal you struck even if I quit as
your attorney. Of course, Emerson is also going to give a press conference at noon on the courthouse steps to announce that you were instrumental in the DEA bringing down the Al Sharqi criminal enterprise. Dill will also sing your praises. So, you’ll be a free man. With a target on his back. Oh, and no money.” She glanced at her watch. “Federal agents should be cracking open your freezer right about now. Those packages will be in an evidence locker before lunchtime.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“If you’re referring to the Aminis or to Al Sharqi’s guys, yeah, probably. But that’s not the sort of adverse effect the statute addresses. So good luck.”
His skin turned a sickly gray-green under all the bruises. “What’s my other option?”
“I won’t withdraw—if you go back into the courtroom and give Judge Cook a true and complete accounting of your role in the money-smuggling scheme and the fact that you stole eight million dollars of ill-gotten drug money for yourself and accept the sentence he imposes.”
“Both of those options suck.”
She shrugged. “You can either accept the judicial consequences of the crime you actually committed or walk free and hope you don’t get killed after the Assistant United States Attorney thanks you for providing critical evidence against a major drug ring operating out of Central West Virginia.”
“This is blackmail.”
“No, Clive. This is justice. See you inside.”
She turned on her heel and strode back into the courtroom, giving the marshal a meaningful glance. He nodded. Clive wasn’t going to get far if he tried to run.
Judge Cook and Emerson were chatting at the bar when she pushed the door open.
Great. Nothing like a little ex parte off-the-record banter while the defense attorney is out of the room.
Judge Cook shooed Emerson away and crooked a finger at Sasha.
“Yes, Your Honor?”
“Please approach the bench.”
“Of course, Your Honor.”
She skirted the well, rising dread filling her heart.
She rose up onto her tiptoes to see over the bench. “Yes, Your Honor.”
In Absentia Page 13