Once We Were Brothers

by Ronald H. Balson

  Ben shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it’s Otto who’s running the number on all of us.”

  * * *

  Liam returned to Catherine’s shortly after sunset. He had a broad smile on his face and a large envelope in his hand.

  “Why are you smiling?” she said. “What do you have? Did you catch a fish?”

  “You mean like, maybe a killer whale?” He opened the envelope, pulled out a 5x7 photograph and laid it on the table.

  “That’s him!” shouted Ben. “That’s Otto! In full Nazi regalia. Where did you get that?”

  “Goodlow. Naturally when he Googled Piatek, he came up with nothing, just like all of us. All the obvious sources were dead-ends. But one of his young interns was a wizard in searching old European periodicals. He found this picture in a Nazi propaganda piece called, ‘Germany Re-cultures the General Gouvernment.’ It’s a story about how German efficiency was bringing culture to the backward cities of Poland. Piatek is pictured in front of some building talking to a well-dressed woman.”

  “It’s the town hall,” Ben said. “I would guess it’s 1942, maybe later, given the uniform. The woman is obviously not Jewish.”

  Catherine stared long and hard at the picture. “There’s no doubting the resemblance to Rosenzweig.” She turned to Liam. “Do you realize the importance of this find? Convictions have been upheld on the basis of a picture coupled with eye-witness testimony.”

  Liam looked very pleased with himself. “As some entertainer use to say, ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’”

  Ben shook his head. “No.”

  “What?”

  “It was Al Jolson. And he said, ‘You ain’t heard nothin’ yet.’”

  Liam stuck out his chin, “Well maybe I’m talking about Bachman Turner Overdrive. Ha!”

  Catherine interrupted. “Liam, will you please tell us what else you have in the envelope. The suspense is killing me.”

  “Well, when the intern found the old magazine article, that gave him the idea of searching old American magazines for pictures.” He dug into the envelope and spread out several more photographs on the coffee table. “Here’s one of a young Rosenzweig in Life Magazine taken in 1953. Rosenzweig is standing next to Senator Griffen. The likeness between that and the German picture is uncanny.”

  Catherine and Ben studied the two pictures side by side. “Wow,” she said over and over. “Wow.”

  Ben hung his head and covered his face with his hands. “That’s enough isn’t it? To justify a lawsuit, to withstand a challenge? To get us all into court?”

  Catherine nodded. “It sure is!” She threw her arms around Liam. “Wow.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Winnetka, Illinois December 2004

  Elliot Rosenzweig, dressed casually in a cream silk shirt and brown wool slacks, walked down the hall of his gracious home and into the north sitting room where his wife, his granddaughter and another young woman were seated around a glass table leafing through piles of booklets and brochures.

  “Popi,” said Jennifer, rising and indicating her guest, “I want to introduce you to Andee Grattinger. She’s our wedding consultant, the best around. She did the Chadwick’s wedding in Kenilworth last summer, the one that made the cover of North Shore Magazine.”

  Andee stood and extended her hand. “I’m honored to meet you, sir, and delighted to be given the privilege of coordinating Jennifer’s wedding. I’ve brought along some albums, some of our more spectacular occasions. Please let me know if they meet with your expectations.”

  “My expectations are entirely in my granddaughter’s hands. If she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

  They all took seats around the table and paged through the albums. “I love this setting, Nonna,” Jennifer said, holding up a page in a pink quilted album. “See how they have the orchestra silhouetted against the sunset.”

  “Sunset won’t work for us,” said her grandmother, lovingly. “We face east, darling. But what about the moon shining off the lake? It would make a lovely backdrop.”

  “Are there other family members who should be singled out throughout the evening?” Andee said, making notes.

  Elliot shook his head. “My daughter and her husband died in a car accident many years ago, when Jennifer was just a baby, and she has no brothers or sisters. Neither my wife nor I have any family other than Jennifer. We came from Europe, you know. Jennifer’s father was an only child, so there are no aunts or uncles. No, I’m afraid there’s just the three of us, as far as family is concerned. I think you’ll find no shortage of friends, however.”

  In his gray butler’s jacket, Robert walked to the doorway, politely cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Rosenzweig, may I see you for a moment?”

  “Pardon me,” Elliot said with a smile. “I leave it all to you ladies. I’m a bull in a china shop, as they say.”

  In the hallway, Robert whispered, “There is a gentleman, a uniformed officer from Cook County, at the gate house. He says he must see you about official government business.”

  Elliot looked puzzled. “On a Saturday? Why do they bother me at home?” He shook his head. “Have Russell bring him to the front door. I’ll meet him there.”

  A few minutes later, a man in a brown bomber jacket, a Cook County Sheriff’s Department patch on the sleeve, delivered a manila envelope to Elliot. “I’ve been ordered to personally hand this to you, sir. It’s a lawsuit.”

  “A lawsuit? Why would this come to my house?”

  “I’m not sure, sir,” said the deputy and he left to return to his car.

  Elliot tore open the top of the envelope, just enough to see the caption: Benjamin Solomon v. Elliot Rosenzweig a/k/a Otto Piatek, and turned white.

  “What the hell is this?” he said as he rushed to call his lawyer.

  Chapter Forty

  Jeffers finished reading the lawsuit, removed his half-glasses and turned to face his client.

  “It’s like I told you on the phone,” Elliot said, sitting in his leather chair, his back to his bay windows. “It’s Solomon, the same damn lunatic that’s been stalking me since last September. Now he’s sued me in the Cook County courts for all the world to see. He’s sued me for being a Nazi executioner.”

  A Chicago Sun-Times, early edition, sat on the desk with a banner headline, reading: “Prominent Chicagoan Sued Over War Crimes.” A three column picture of Elliot sat above a subscript posing the question: “Elliot Rosenzweig: Nazi or victim?”

  “Actually, he’s sued you for taking his property. It’s a suit for money damages.”

  “I can read, Gerry.”

  “The lawsuit says he made a demand for return of specific property and you failed to return it. Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

  Elliot nodded. “About a week ago I got a letter demanding that I deliver a whole list of things to Solomon. It was bullshit. I threw it away.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because it was bullshit. Look, we need to counter this as strongly as possible, both in the courts and in the media. Look at this newspaper,” he said, holding up the front page and furiously rattling the pages.

  “Settle down. I’ve called a press conference for this afternoon at my office. These allegations concern things that happened sixty years ago. They’re probably all time-barred by the statute of limitations. I’ll express our outrage, announce our intention to immediately move for a dismissal and file a countersuit against this moneygrubber for defamation.”

  “Are you nuts? Dismiss the case on a technicality? That’s like saying I’m guilty but you didn’t sue me in time. No, he either has to withdraw this case and make a public apology or we have to beat him on the merits of the case. And forget about suing him for defamation. What’s the public going to think when a billionaire sues some poor crazy old man?”

  “Okay, calm down, we’ll take care of it.”

  Elliot rose from his chair and walked to the windows. The December skies, a persistent, dispir
ited blanket of low-hovering gray that wouldn’t snow and wouldn’t go away, mirrored Elliot’s mood. He stared at the silver-gray lake. The reflection of the clouds made the horizon imperceptible. He took a deep breath and turned to face his lawyer. “This man threatens to eradicate an entire legacy. All a man has is his reputation. Everything that’s gone before – my work, my charities, my foundations – everything that I’ve accomplished in my life will be tarnished if these accusations continue to find safe harbors. They must be recanted! He must concede he has made a mistake and that in his confusion he has misidentified me.”

  “You shouldn’t have interfered in September. If you hadn’t urged the State to drop the charges, Solomon’d still be behind bars. What’s happening with your stake-out of Piatek’s house in Cleveland?”

  “Nothing. The house is vacant. Wuld thinks Piatek split for Europe. He wants me to send him to Poland. I may do that.”

  “Earlier this month,” Jeffers said, “I used all my influence to persuade Jenkins and that woman lawyer, what’s her name, Lockhart, to drop Solomon as a client. Jenkins saw the light and agreed, but Lockhart left the firm and now I understand she’s working out of her house.”

  “Then you should be able to make it go away quickly. The longer it continues, the more damage it causes. Rumor feeds upon itself. The public loves to see successful people trashed; that’s how the tabloids were built. Gerry, I know I don’t have to remind you how much business we throw your way. This has to be, right now, the most important case in your office.”

  “I understand perfectly. I’ll put half a dozen lawyers on it. We’ll bury her with court time and paperwork. She’s on her own and there’s no way she can keep up. We’ll smash her in court.”

  “It’s not just a matter of beating someone in court. Why do you lawyers always think like that? Why do you fail to see the big picture? I am accused of being a Nazi. The world is my court. It wants to know, ‘Is this man a Nazi?’ We have to show the public that I am wrongfully accused. If we can’t get him to retract, we have to make a public fool of Solomon in court, show him to be a madman possessed. That’s the only way to clear my name. I got a call this morning from Carol Mornay at NBC. She wants a televised interview.”

  “I’m advising against it, Elliot.”

  “I’m going to give her the interview. I’ve sat with her before. I’ve known her for some time. It’ll go well. Don’t worry.”

  “If you insist, but I want to go with you. They’ll have legal questions.”

  Elliot shook his head. “It gives the whole matter too much credence. If I sit there with my lawyer, the public will think I have something to hide. If I go on by myself and show I’m willing to answer questions, just she and I, it’ll create a more informal atmosphere. It’ll have the desired effect.”

  “I’m not happy about this, Elliot. You never know what these journalists will dig up. I’ve had clients burned by the media.”

  “I’ll have to take that chance. I need to fight the battle of public opinion. You need to fight the battle in court. If Solomon won’t recant, I need for you to prove that I am not Piatek.”

  “It’s not your burden to prove you’re not Piatek. It’s Solomon’s burden to prove his case – that you are, in fact, Piatek. He’s the one that has to have the evidence in court.”

  Elliot nodded and together they walked to the portico where Jeffers’ car was waiting. “Of course, you’re right, Gerry, I shouldn’t have had him released after the opera incident, but I took pity on him. So many of us survived the war physically but not emotionally. I don’t wish anybody any harm, but this guy has to be stopped.”

  Jeffers slid into the driver’s seat. “Call me after you’ve spoken to Carol Mornay. Meanwhile, we’re going to kill a lot of trees and paper Lockhart to death.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chicago, Illinois December 2004

  Catherine was in the midst of making her morning coffee when her phone rang. Two weeks until Christmas and she still hadn’t started her shopping. Despite the demands of the lawsuit, this was a day she had set aside for Michigan Avenue. She had her eye on a digital camera for Liam. She thought she’d shop for a warm sweater for Ben.

  “Catherine, it’s Walter Jenkins. I need to talk to you about this Rosenzweig lawsuit.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Can you come by this morning?”

  “Why, Mr. Jenkins? Why would I come by? So that you can pressure me again?”

  “Please, Catherine, would you just show me the courtesy of stopping in to talk to me? This firm was good to you. You owe me.”

  “Charming. You certainly have a way of ingratiating yourself,” she said.

  “Please, Catherine. I’m asking you.”

  “Very well. I’ll come in around eleven.”

  No sooner had she set down the phone than the doorbell buzzed. A FedEx driver delivered a box from Jeffers’s office. Inside was a stack of legal papers and clipped to the top was a letter from Jeffers.

  “Dear Ms. Lockhart:

  Pursuant to the Illinois Code of Civil Procedure and the Rules of the Supreme Court, we are enclosing the following discovery demands, and we expect compliance within 28 days:

  Notice for the Deposition of Benjamin Solomon

  Notice for the Depositions of Government Offices of Vital Statistics in Warsaw, Frankfurt and Zamość

  Request for Production of Documents, Objects and Tangible things

  Defendant’s First Set of Interrogatories to Plaintiff

  Defendant’s Request for Admissions of Fact

  We are also enclosing herewith three motions which we have set for hearing before Judge Ryan on December 20, 2004:

  Motion to Accelerate Case for Trial

  Motion to Produce Medical and Psychiatric Records of Benjamin Solomon

  Motion for an Independent Psychiatric Examination of Benjamin Solomon.

  We remain open to discuss amicable resolution of this matter at any time.

  Very Truly Yours

  Storch and Bennett

  By E. Gerald Jeffers”

  * * *

  “I guess I should have realized this was coming, Liam,” Catherine said into the phone. “Of course, it’s physically impossible for me to cover all these demands within the time they’ve scheduled. But that’s their game plan.”

  “Won’t the judge give you relief? You’re only one person.”

  “I’m sure he will, but as to how much leeway he’ll give to me, I won’t know until Wednesday. That’s when Jeffers’s motions are scheduled to be presented to Judge Ryan. Meanwhile, I’d like to do some brainstorming. Would you bring Ben here tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll call him.”

  Catherine bundled herself up for the winter cold and headed downtown for what she hoped would be a very brief meeting with Jenkins.

  * * *

  The office receptionist, dressed in a red sweater adorned with sequined reindeer, smiled broadly as Catherine walked into the reception area. “Why hello, Miss Lockhart, it’s so good to see you again,” she said. “Mr. Jenkins is waiting for you in his office and he said to send you right back. I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

  Jenkins rose and greeted Catherine with a smile and a warm handshake. He shut his office door and gestured toward the couch.

  “May I offer you a cup of coffee?” he said. She politely declined and sat on the edge of the leather couch, her legs together, her hands on her knees, as if she expected to leave at any moment.

  Jenkins took a seat behind his desk. “Let me get right to the point. Just as I predicted, this Solomon case has become a disaster for us. In the past week we’ve lost three of our insurance clients and there are threats from others. They don’t want to offend Rosenzweig, so they’re taking their business elsewhere. It’s a damn row of dominoes.”

  “Why? This isn’t J & F business. I’m no longer with the firm.”

  Jenkins parried with a quick wave. “Yesterday, Judge Miller called
me. ‘What the hell is Lockhart doing? Why can’t you stop her?’ And you know what, Catherine? We have several cases on his docket. He can hurt us.”

  “Judge Miller? What does Judge Miller have to do with it? Judge Ryan’s got Ben’s case.”

  “It’s all over the courthouse.”

  “Did you tell him I quit a month ago?”

  “Of course I did. He didn’t care. Like everyone else, he still associates you with Jenkins and Fairchild. Let’s face it, Catherine, you were working up the case in this office on my time before you left the firm. It’s not like we weren’t involved.”

  “Well, Mr. Jenkins, I don’t know what you want me to do about this. I’ll call Judge Miller and tell him I’m not with the firm. I’ll tell him that you insisted I decline the case but I refused and that was the reason I left the firm. Is that what you want?”

  “What I want? I want you to drop this madness. Non-suit the case.”

  “You know I won’t do that.”

  Jenkins leaned back and took a breath, ready to play his hole card. “I’m prepared to make you a generous offer. I’ll give you your job back, increase your salary by two hundred thousand dollars and give you a fifty thousand dollar bonus, payable upon dismissal of the Solomon suit. And we never had this conversation.”

  Catherine rose and walked to the door. She stopped and turned to face Jenkins. “Thank you, Walter. You did me a favor.”

  “I did? You accept?”

  Catherine shook her head. “No. You’ve set my mind at ease. No second thoughts now. You’re entirely unprincipled. Your unethical, illegal and immoral offer is rejected. Nice try, though.”

  “Damn it, Catherine,” he called after her, “you’ll be sorry. There won’t be a firm in Chicago that’ll touch you.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  “There are thirty-thousand lawyers in Chicago. I doubt that either Jenkins or Jeffers speaks for the entire legal community,” Liam said, unfolding a long collapsible table in Catherine’s home office.