Wearing the Spider (A Suspense Novel) (Legal Thriller) (Thriller)

by Schaab, Susan

  She sat at her desk and played her voice mail messages while she dipped a spring roll into the soup and took a few bites. No message other than Alan’s seemed urgent so, on the assumption that his summons related to a matter that she knew was active, she grabbed the VelloPro file.

  Until the end of last year, Evie had not consciously held any opinion of Alan Levenger. It was an encounter during a November client visit in Chicago that had left an indelible stain on her perception of him. Even though she’d been aware of his propensity toward roguery, she’d been shocked when he followed her back to her Chicago hotel room, kissed her and tried to force his way into her room. After his vehement apology and a pledge not to repeat the behavior, she had agreed not to report the incident, but the wisdom of that compromise had haunted her ever since, especially after confiding in Jenna.

  She walked down the hall to Alan’s office with her defenses on alert.

  “Sit down and put your feet up for a conference call.” He greeted her allowing his eyes to travel freely around her person for several seconds. “You’re an art historian, aren’t you? A question,” he said. “Who was it during the Renaissance Period that said: ‘If only man had fifty senses, since five give such pleasure?’”

  “Lorenzo Valla, but he said it a bit differently.” She looked past him. “So, you corrected those records on Gooseneck, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. Honest mistake.”

  “Thanks. Okay. Will this call be on the VelloPro matter?” She met Alan’s gaze and regarded him for a moment. His strawberry-blonde hair, its earlobe-length and layers a contrast to the legal establishment, hugged his head in a thick collection of gelled strands. His overly tanned skin camouflaged the light-colored clusters of facial hair on his upper lip and made his eyebrows barely visible. The texture of his skin spoke of a lifetime of sun and his cheeks were speckled with a constellation of freckles. He had a well-tended physique and a ready smile full of milk-white veneers that he often flashed to further an agenda.

  “Okay. VelloPro,” he said, as he removed a fresh cigar from his pocket, cut the end and struck a match. “You should listen, learn and take notes.”

  Evie pointed at the cigar, but he ignored her. She looked to her lap, reviewing the open file. It had been three weeks since she’d handed Alan the final draft of the VelloPro memo for his review, and he had not said a word about it until now. She knew he had not even read it, as it was still in the sealed envelope in which she had delivered it to him, laying in the center of his desk, partially covered by a jumble of papers. Alan rotated his chair tossing papers from one pile to another. As she sat there, he telephoned to arrange a group of guests for a black tie charity dinner.

  Evie could see a red light blinking on another line and concluded that the conference call had already been initiated.

  Finally, VelloPro executive Frank Mueller was summoned from telephonic limbo and announced himself. Alan pitched around some polite conversation and asked Frank to summarize his concerns.

  “Have you been able to put something together yet?” Frank asked with no apparent frustration at the delay to which he had been subjected.

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” Alan began, “I have a copy of a draft review that was submitted yesterday by my dutiful associate, Miss Sullivan, who is sitting in my office right now.” Evie suppressed a frown at the misinformation.

  “Well that’s reassuring. I asked you the question a month ago. Well, forget it. Gimme a summary of the content.” Frank now seemed reluctant to waste any more time.

  “Certainly,” Alan said, with no effort at an explanation.

  Evie moved forward in her chair, poised to take notes with a stoic facial expression.

  “Well, I’ve heard that you’re a bottom line man,” Alan began. “The bottom line is that we believe you’re certainly within your rights to exercise the option in section 13(b) of the agreement to sublicense the modified software.”

  Evie gestured silently to Alan. She hastily scribbled on a notepad the contractual prerequisites, or the actions the client would have to undertake prior to exercising the “13(b) option,” and slid the pad in front of him. Alan paused for a sip of coffee and glanced over the penciled points.

  “Of course, there’s a troll under the bridge,” Alan added.

  “So it’s not a clean right under the contract?” Frank asked. “What are the implications for us if we go down that path? Are we gonna be liable for any additional royalty or license fees?”

  Alan did not respond and seemed to be looking for something on his desk. He looked impatiently at Evie and gestured toward the speaker on his telephone.

  Evie began to speak. “Frank, this is Evie Sullivan. To answer your question, there are several issues that you should be aware of if you decide to sublicense. Let me try to summarize them for you.”

  Alan interjected, “Frank, I’m going to let Evie answer your question.” He repositioned his cigar in his mouth and nodded at Evie, leaning back in his chair and extending his arms in a backward stretch as puffs of cigar smoke formed a cottony cocoon around his head.

  Evie leaned toward the speaker, described the constraints she saw in the contract language and suggested a strategy to operate within them.

  When she finished and looked up, she noticed that Alan was staring at her, the cigar held firmly between his teeth. She looked away and her eyes fixed on a golf club that was leaning against Alan’s bookcase wearing a Yankees cap covered with blood-red lipstick kisses. She imagined that there must be a story associated with that collection of objects, but she found herself thinking that she wasn’t the least bit interested.

  “Okay, Evie,” said Frank.

  Evie started to speak again, but Alan held up his hand to stop any further contributions from her. He disengaged the speaker to privatize the remainder of his conversation with Frank, repeating a few of the points she’d made, as he manipulated the remnant of the cigar, now smoldering in a gold-embossed ashtray. Evie stared at the ashtray.

  “You know, coincidentally, Evie had just asked me those very questions before you called and we discussed the issues. We apologize for the delay. She’s been busy, but I’ll have her re-prioritize,” Alan added, grinning boldly at Evie as if she was in on his charade.

  “We’ll revise the memo for you and have it out by the end of the day,” said Alan into the receiver. He turned his attention to the window as if Evie no longer existed. “Hey, you know I tried to make that tee time last month, but work intervened … Yeah. Absolutely. Yeah, we can do that … That’s right … Yeah, private cigar party at Louis Penchman’s penthouse. Park Avenue at 73rd. Hope you can make it. Great. Wonderful. See you there.”

  Alan wore an enormous smile when he hung up the phone and rose from his chair.

  “That’s how you handle a client,” Alan muttered as he mouthed a fresh cigar. “I think you need to re-write this memo. It needs some work. I hope you learned something about fielding client questions.” Alan allowed his cigar to float at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “I need the re-write as soon as possible so I can review it and send it out today. I also want to speak to you about this revised version of the Sangerson-Zoomhelix agreement.”

  Evie suppressed another frown and swallowed a series of adjectives and adverbs that would undoubtedly have had a sour taste. “Yes. Okay. But I don’t have that file here with me.”

  “Well, I don’t think you’ll need to refer to a file while we’re speaking.”

  “Okay. Sure.” Evie shifted her weight in the chair. “I made minimal changes to Zoomhelix’s license agreement, just as you said. I only made changes I felt were absolutely necessary and they’re noted in red.”

  “Yeah, I saw. The problem is that this Zoomhelix agreement is pathetic.” Alan removed the cigar from his mouth. “There are parts of it that are just illogical. For example, this section on warranty is at the beginning of the agreement before any software delivery has been described and the definitions are in the middle o
f the document. What kind of form agreement has the defined terms in the middle of the document after many of the terms have already been used in the text?”

  “Yes. I know. We spoke about this when you assigned it to me. We agreed that the form was terrible. And we talked about the order of the sections. You said you knew it was unusual, but your instructions were to leave the agreement intact.”

  “I never would’ve said that,” he said as he re-inserted the cigar at the corner of his mouth.

  “You specifically said not to rewrite it and to only add provisions that were absolutely necessary to protect the client. You said because the client’s new, you didn’t want to overwhelm them with a complete rewrite on their first deal with us.”

  “Are you sure that Buniker didn’t tell you that? Sangerson is the first client he’s brought to the firm, ya know. He might be a little paranoid.”

  “No. Alan, with all due respect, it was you who gave the instructions and told me to limit the revisions. We’ve seen badly worded agreements before, but you said this should win some sort of prize. You even joked about the pretentious type font that Zoomhelix used and the copyright protection extending to the ‘ends of the universe, including without limitation all undiscovered galaxies.’ Don’t you remember?”

  “Well, I don’t recall that conversation and it’s irrelevant. I think you’ve shown a serious lack of judgment here, Evie, and I have to say that I’m very concerned about it because you’re a senior associate. You should be much more savvy at this point in your career.” He laid the cigar in the ashtray and walked over to a wooden cabinet, reaching behind a door and pulling out a golf glove. “This agreement should’ve been re-written. I can’t send this embarrassing document to a client.”

  “Well, I agree, but my instructions were to—”

  “Stop being so defensive. It’s not professional.”

  Evie bit her lip and fell into a contemplative silence.

  “Forget what you may have concluded from any prior conversations. Rewrite it. Use one of our standard forms. And write a cover letter to the client explaining in a diplomatic way why we felt it should be rewritten. We don’t want to insult the software vendor our client has chosen to do business with. Email both documents to me. I don’t want them to go out until I’ve seen them.”

  Evie felt a hot bubble of rage churn upward in her stomach, but she swallowed, took a breath and said, “Okay, Alan. I’ll rewrite it. I kept my reading notes so I can do a completely new version. Who’ll call Zoomhelix? Doesn’t someone need to prepare them since the contract they sent Sangerson for review will now be returned to them in an unrecognizable form?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just do it. I hope they’re good notes because you have to turn it around quickly.”

  “How quickly?”

  “By the end of the week.”

  “Alan. That’s going to be difficult. Today’s Wednesday. There’ll be many hours of work here, I—”

  “Well, unfortunately, because we’ve had the agreement for two weeks, Sangerson’s getting a bit anxious. And they are a new client, after all. We don’t want them to get the impression that we’re not responsive, do we?”

  “No, of course not,” Evie’s pencil moistened with her perspiration and swam invisibly between her hands in her lap.

  “Okay, andale. Let’s just get to work.”

  “Wait a minute, Alan. What about this VelloPro memo? I don’t think we clearly agreed on what’s to be done. The points we discussed on the phone are already in it. When you say ‘it needs some work,’ exactly what do you mean?” Evie asked, determined to clarify these instructions.

  “I don’t like its flow. I think the paragraphs are in the wrong order.” Alan grabbed the unread pages and tossed them back down.

  “If you’re just concerned about paragraph order, can’t you have a secretary clean it up? I have two other matters to finish this afternoon, besides the enormous amount of work to be done on this Sangerson document.”

  To resist supporting a partner was unlike her and she felt a knot form in her stomach. She was having difficulty neutralizing her disgust at Alan’s farce. His accusation that she had acted irresponsibly was unwarranted. As if she’d been force-fed a bite of hot red peppers, her mouth was burning to refute the implication that she had mismanaged the matter.

  “Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Alan snapped. “You know, I didn’t have to include you on that call. You are still an associate, Evie. Before I made partner, I put in the time for much less money. It’s amazing to me that we pay you what we do and we get this unprofessional laziness in return.”

  Evie did not even try to suppress the third frown. “Wait a minute. I gave that VelloPro memo in draft form to you three weeks ago. No response from you. You misled the client to cover the fact that you’ve spent zero time on it, but I was happy to step in on your behalf. I’m even happy to re-write the memo if you have substantive problems with it, even though you promised to send it out today without checking with me to find out if I could meet that deadline,” she paused and licked her lips.

  “And, then, you reprimanded me for following your instructions because you decided you couldn’t send that Zoomhelix form agreement out once you focused on how poorly written it is. And because you’ve neglected to re-direct the review until now, there’s suddenly time pressure for me to turn it around.”

  Alan was focused on her, grinning. Then he turned and walked back around behind his desk.

  She continued. “You promised to meet me here yesterday for that conference call with Neully. You know I’ve never worked with that client before. You didn’t even bother to let me know you wouldn’t be able to make it. And, you expect me to be grateful? Exactly what am I supposed to be grateful about?”

  Alan’s mouth was open, poised to respond when Mary buzzed him with a call from a woman named Cheryl. Immediately his demeanor changed. As if suddenly injected with adrenaline, or perhaps testosterone, Alan raised his palm toward Evie and picked up the receiver. His face animated. Evie collected her papers and was out the door before Alan’s first words to Cheryl echoed around his office.

  A few moments later, Evie dropped into her desk chair with a sigh and pulled a bag of peppermint tea leaves from a drawer, dropping it into a cup of hot water she’d retrieved from the kitchen. She inhaled the fresh fragrance as she listened to voice mail messages. The VelloPro file flew through the air and collided with an empty chair opposite her desk.

  The recorded succession of voices resonated in the small room. She paused as she heard her client’s announcement that he had changed his mind about attending the Thursday night auction. A confirmation of the receipt of a document followed.

  Then there was a message from Joe Barton. The first time she listened she was preoccupied by the sound of his voice.

  “Evie, I’m in town through Friday and I’d love to see you. Still need some company for tomorrow night’s auction? Call me at the Plaza Hotel.”

  No longer having a business reason to attend the auction, should she call him and suggest something else? They could have dinner instead. Would spending an entire evening with him be a good idea? What would be the purpose, anyway? He lives in California, she thought. California. Three-hour time difference. A different world.

  She sipped her tea, dug around again in her top desk drawer and found a small sample bottle of body oil from Roma Sori. She massaged it into her arms and hands. It was a combination of lavender, marjoram, ylang ylang, patchouli and blue chamomile. A brief serenity.

  Joe’s card was still in that same desk drawer. She pulled it out and studied it as if it might hold further hidden information about the man it represented. She dialed the Plaza. The hotel operator answered, and she gave his name and asked the operator to ring his room. She felt a peculiar sense of melancholy, but shrugged it off, brushing away a strand of hair that had worked its way free over the course of the day.

  A second or two passed and she was connected to his ro
om. After four rings she heard the hotel voice mail pick up, but it announced only the room number. She hoped she was leaving her message in the correct electronic box. “Joe, I got your message. The auction plans have been cancelled. It’s likely that I’ll be working late instead.” She paused. “It’s possible that I may be free for an early breakfast Friday morning if you’re so inclined. If we miss each other, have a great trip back to California.”

  She replaced the telephone receiver. A melancholy flooded her spirit. It was as if she had closed the door to a place where she might have belonged. She raised her cup to her lips, sipped her tea and returned Joe’s card to the drawer. As she closed the drawer, her eyes focused on a newspaper clipping she hadn’t noticed before that was hidden under the jumble of tea bags.

  4

  The article profiled the troubled marriage of Senator Arbeson and a recent public argument with his Latin wife that had been dissected for weeks in the tabloids. She wondered who had clipped it out of the newspaper and deposited it in her drawer, but concluded Helen had deemed it useful information, given that Evie was now working on a matter for the Senator. Each quote from the wife had been underlined in red ink. She threw it in the trash and answered some client email. A glance at the clock reminded her of the commitment to address the partners so she searched for the file with her moral rights research, flipped through the printouts from LEXIS and gulped the remaining few swallows of tea.

  Although she had spoken at legal seminars with audiences of hundreds of people, she was not as comfortable speaking to the partners of her firm. They held her career in their hands, as their judgments about her would determine whether she someday joined their ranks. It was considered an honor to be invited to attend a partner-only meeting, whatever the purpose. Most associates used such opportunities to showcase successes or campaign for political juice—a pronouncement of his or her longitude and latitude on the firm’s navigational chart.