Sweeney beamed, spreading his arms wide as if he were about to embrace the entire audience. “My friends. Thank you so much for joining me here today. Our city is growing by leaps and bounds, improving every day, and there can be no surer sign of that than our spectacular new mayor. It’s no secret that I had some...objections to prior administrations, and I think my instincts there have proven to have merit. But now we have the leader we need, and with his guidance, St Pete could go anywhere. Anywhere!”
Another cheer rose, from the same people as before, unless Dan was mistaken. He and Maria exchanged a glance. Despite her flaws, Camila at least had a vision for the city. The new guy was a sycophant. Sweeney was elated because they had replaced a leader he couldn’t control with a leader he could control without trying hard.
“The purpose of the Sweeney House is to ensure that every citizen has a safe place to live, to grow, to flourish, to explore new horizons. In recent years we have become increasing aware of the threats to our society, threats eating it away from the inside. We must end domestic abuse. We should have a zero tolerance policy for anyone who strikes another with physical violence. And we must stand firm against other threats as well, threats to the American way of life, people who don’t understand what it means to be a real American.”
Dan scrutinized Sweeney carefully as he spoke. Sweeney was a hard one to read. It was almost as if he knew Dan was watching and made a conscious effort to eliminate all tells.
Maria whispered, “A real American? What does that mean?”
“A rich white male, probably.”
“Is he reading this off a teleprompter?”
“No. He doesn’t have to. He’s smart.”
Maria made a harrumphing sound. “Probably has his talking points written on his hand.”
“But this is just the beginning,” Sweeney continued. “We have plans for much more than just the Sweeney Houses. We’ve been in conversations with the designers of The Gathering Place, our magnificent new park network, to add Sweeney Afterschool Centers, places where children of working parents can engage in wholesome activities, not just staring at screens. Learning valuable life skills. We are acquiring land for the Sweeney Rehab Centers, to help people struggling with addictive problems can get the help they need. And much much more. St. Pete will become America’s model city. But I can only do this with your help. Will you join with me to make this city a better place?”
This time the cheering was not limited to the cluster in the rear. He had even some of the reporters applauding.
“You know, Dan,” Maria murmured, “if you go through with this, you’re about to become the most reviled person in the city.”
“I’m a defense attorney,” he muttered. “I’m used to it.”
As the applause died, Sweeney stepped away from the podium. “I’m afraid my schedule is quite full, but I think I have time to take a few questions.” Off to the side, he could see Prudence subtly shaking her head no, but he either didn’t see or didn’t care. “Are there any questions?”
An ocean of hands flew up—including Dan’s. Unsurprisingly, he was not chosen.
An attractive blonde reporter near the front jumped when his finger pointed to her. “Mr. Sweeney, all these plans sound wonderful, but expensive. How will we pay for them?”
“Through the enormous generosity of the successful entrepreneurs of this city. My hope is that we can proceed without any taxpayer dollars, just through private donations from people like Albert Kazan and Richard Brookings, and of course, myself.”
The reporter followed up fast. “But sir, there are reports that you’re experiencing some financial setbacks. Will this impact your plans?”
Sweeney smiled, waving his hand in the air. “Simply temporary cash-flow issues. It happens to every business. This world has been through some tremendous economic setbacks this year. But we’ll bounce back. SweeTech is a strong as ever.”
Sweeney pointed to a reporter on the far left, but Dan cut in before the man had a chance to speak. “Mr. Sweeney, isn’t it true that the vast majority of your wealth comes from illegal smuggling activities? And has for decades.”
The crowd appeared stunned. What?
Sweeney drew in his breath. His eyes flared for only an instant. Then the calm settled back in. “I called on Mr. Smith from the Tamp Bay Times.”
“Yes,” Dan shouted, “but I’d like an answer to my question. When are you going to come clean with the people of the city? We don’t need rehabs financed by sex trafficking and black-market organ sales.”
In the corner of his eye, he saw Prudence point to two security officers. He didn’t have much time.
“Many people believe you were behind the courtroom execution of the man known as The Captain, who was involved with a South American human smuggling cartel.”
“These are lies,” Sweeney said, his jaw locking. “Filthy lies. Don’t we have security?”
A tumult arose. In the distance Dan could see officers making their way toward him. He had maybe seconds left. “They aren’t lies, Sweeney. I have the proof. And soon I’ll have more.”
“Just for the record,” Sweeney said, “the arrogant young man speaking is Daniel Pike, a criminal lawyer who has put dozens of drug dealers and murderers back on the street, including the man responsible for the horrendous Trademark Massacre.”
“That’s not true.”
“The Pike family has been a blight on this city for generations.” Sweeney’s face flushed. Dan had finally managed to crack his calm-and-collected veneer, at least a little. “His father was a dirty cop and a convicted murderer. And what a coincidence—this Pike has been accused of murder as well. I guess what they say about the murder gene is true. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Evil is inherited.”
“That’s a slanderous lie!”
“That’s a matter of public record.”
“My father was a hero.”
“Only to the underworld. He was a crook with significant ties to organized crime. And whenever a new story breaks involving this smuggling cartel—you’re always involved.”
The security officers arrived. He noticed that the tv cameras were no longer focused on Sweeney. They were focused on him.
“Come with us, sir,” the lead officer said.
Dan shrugged them off. “Leave me alone. I haven’t committed a crime.”
“Don’t make me use force, sir.”
“Isn’t this still a free country, Sweeney? Are you using Gestapo troops to silence dissent? Using military force to suppress public protest?”
Sweeney rolled his eyes. Prudence inched behind him and whispered in his ear. “Perhaps I should just end the conference. I don’t want a riot. I invite any legitimate members of the press to email me questions.”
“You can silence this conference, Sweeney, but you can’t silence me. We’ll continue this conversation later.”
Sweeney shook his head. “As God is my witness, Mr. Pike, I hope I never lay eyes on you again in my life.”
“But you will.” He gave the man a small salute. “See you in court.”
Chapter 5
“Has it arrived yet?”
Sweeney sat at his antique mahogany desk in the enormous office on the penthouse level of his downtown office building, surrounded by a floor-to-wall window on the east side, Louis XIV furniture, enough art of pay off the national debt, and two people. Standing at his side was Prudence Hancock, the woman who would do anything for him. Seated in the chair on the opposite side of the desk was Bradley Ellison, the man who in many ways was directly responsible for the problem that now confronted him.
Sweeney leaned back in his leather chair and folded his hands in his lap, the position he had assumed on so many previous occasions, a visual reflection of his inner calm and confidence. And power.
But not today. Today it was a pose he was assuming to present the façade of inner calm and confidence, a calm he did not possess and a confidence that was eroding by inches.
Pike played him. Pike played on his vanity, knowing he would get a predictable response. Sweeney was accustomed to playing others for fools. Not being one.
What wanted to do was slam his fists down on the desk, bellow like a madman, and bash a Van Gogh over someone’s head. But instead, he smiled slightly and spoke in level, measured tones.
“Let me ask again. Has it arrived yet?”
Prudence stood at attention, not quite looking at her boss. “No. But we know it’s on its way. Shawna tells me Pike has already filed.”
“So we can expect a visitor.”
“I assume the process server will be here any minute. Want me to give him the runaround?”
“And have the press report that I’m ducking service? No. By the way, how is our friend in the court clerk’s office?”
“Worried. Not liking this at all.”
“Is she a threat?”
“No.” Prudence thought a moment, then corrected herself. “I mean, I don’t think so. You could destroy her life if she talked. And her nephew’s life. But she wants out.”
“She’s in too deep.”
“And she knows too much. So I told her to cowboy up and stop whining.”
“Monitor the situation. If she needs to be replaced...or eliminated, let me know. At the first sign of trouble.” He paused, laying heavy emphasis on the words that followed. “Not the last.”
Prudence looked wounded. “Sir, I hope you’re not blaming me—”
“You knew Pike was there.”
“And I told you Pike was there.”
“You did not tell me he intended to cause a disruption.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you think he was there to throw bouquets?”
“Did you?”
They stared at each other, eyes wide. That was as close as Prudence had come to insubordination in fourteen years of working for him.
It would sting more if he didn’t know she was right. He could’ve foreseen what arose just as easily as she did. But he let his confidence get the best of him. And now there would be hell to pay.
He changed the subject. “What are the allegations?”
“Just as you expected. Defamation. Slander, specifically. Damages to business and character. He’s asking for ten million dollars.”
Sweeney snorted. “If I just give it to him, would he go away?”
“I don’t know. But I do know you won’t give it to him.”
“True.” And the sad, utterly humiliating truth was, he couldn’t. Not right now. After the bad investment in the Coleman bio-quantum computing system turned into a giant sinkhole, the disruption of the sex-trafficking network, and now serious damage to the organ-smuggling operation, he was experiencing cash flow problems the like of which he hadn’t experienced since he was a young millionaire of twenty. “That is not currently an option.”
“Pardon me for reminding you of this, sir.” Prudence hesitated. “I don’t wish to anger you. But you could eliminate any possible cash flow issues by selling a few of the many works of art adorning this floor.”
“Out of the question.”
“You would still have enough to float a museum. Probably several museums.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Dr. Sweeney—”
“Prudence, would you sell your children?”
“Well...no.”
“And neither shall I.” He looked down at his hands. Were they trembling? Probably just a trick of the light. “So we will be forced to fight.”
“You’ll win. I know you will. You always win.”
He ignored the last part, so obviously not in keeping with recent events. “This isn’t about winning the lawsuit. Pike couldn’t care less about the money. He already has more than enough for a small-minded insect like him. What he’s done is create an environment in which he can compel people to talk. A civil lawsuit. Subpoena power. The right to take depositions.”
“He can’t make people tell the truth.”
“Does he want to? He can get far more mileage out of catching someone telling a lie.”
“You can take the fifth.”
“Only by suggesting that statement might incriminate me.”
“You have the best lawyers in town. They can spin Pike around, file motions, demand discovery, delay, delay, delay.”
“Perhaps. But Pike is an experienced attorney. He knows the tricks. And he will make sure any evasion is dutifully reported in the press. ‘Why won’t Sweeney talk? What is he hiding?’ I can’t bear it.’”
Ellison had been silent so far. As a retired police officer, he had undoubtedly learned that he gained more information from listening than from talking. “I have some friends at the Times. I can talk to them if you like. Make sure this is reported as a waste of taxpayer money. An act of vengeance from a crooked attorney. That sort of thing.”
“Good. Do it. But I don’t think it will help much. Get it on the internet, too.”
“I also have many contacts on the force. I can get the word out. No one will talk.”
“Then they’ll be held in contempt of court.”
“Okay, let me rephrase that. No one will tell Pike anything useful. Nothing he wats to hear. Cops stick together.”
“Pike’s father was a cop. Police solidarity didn’t help him much.”
Ellison pursed his lips. “That was a special case.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“When a man murders a fellow officer in cold blood, no one can help him.”
Sweeney leaned forward a bit. “Especially when another officer testifies against him. Says the words that get him put away for life.”
“I only told what happened.”
“Part of what happened.”
Ellison’s face flushed. He was getting visibly heated. “I testified about what I saw with my own eyes. I saw Pike’s father fire the gun. I saw his victim fall down and die.”
“You’ve been telling that story so long I wonder if you know what really happened. Memory is a fragile thing.”
“Not mine. I remember every damn second.”
“Let’s hope so. I’m counting on you.”
“You have my complete support.”
Sweeney leaned closer, knowing full well that the overhead lighting would cast his face in shadow, masking his eyes. “You know that in a very real way, you’re responsible for this problem that now besets me.”
“I—I don’t follow.”
“You created Pike. When you arranged for his father to be incarcerated for murder.” His voice crept louder. “You created this self-righteous crusader for justice. But for you and your imbecilic accomplices, I wouldn’t be facing this crisis.” He pointed a finger. “I blame you.”
Ellison’s neck stiffened. “Blame Pike, not me.”
“I choose to blame you both. And I expect you to do something about it.”
“I don’t think this is a crisis,” Prudence said, in an obvious, awkward attempt to redirect the conversation. “You’ve faced worse problems.”
“Have I?”
“And if you want to take out your frustration on someone...the logical candidate would be Pike.”
“We have tried to eliminate him. But like a bad penny, he just keeps turning up. Over and over again.”
Prudence lifted her chin. “Then perhaps it’s time to take off the kid gloves.”
“What are you suggesting?”
She didn’t quite make eye contact. “The final solution.”
“And by that you mean...?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I’d like to hear it from your lips.”
Her lips pressed tightly together, making is harder to speak. “I am simply sugg
esting that if you believe this man, this lawsuit, is so dangerous...then maybe it’s time to take him out of the equation.”
“You’re suggesting I should kill him. Or have him killed?”
“It would reduce the threat level considerably. If the plaintiff dies, the lawsuit is probably dismissed.”
“That is true. But what would be the fun of that?” He placed his hands flat against the immaculately clear desktop. “No, that’s too easy. Too obvious. With the suit pending. Even people who like me would assume I was behind it. We have to be more subtle.”
“What do you suggest?”
He pivoted, casting his eyes upon the Old Master painting currently hanging directly behind his desk. “Do you know what I love most about this work of art, Prudence?”
“It’s a Vermeer?”
“More than that.”
“It’s a Vermeer and thus worth millions.”
“Keep trying.”
“It’s a painting most people don’t even know exists?”
“No. I love it because it is a work of genius created by an artist in his prime. And do you know how he did it?”
“Umm...oil on canvas?”
“Planning. Elaborate, painstaking planning. That’s the true secret of all genius. Not DNA. Not talent, though that is useful. Planning. That’s what makes a man great. And that is why I will emerge from this situation victorious.”
“Because you have a plan.”
Sweeney leaned back in his chair. “We’ll go along with the suit. At least for now. We will present the public image of compliance...while making sure Pike gets nothing. Death would provide little satisfaction. Seeing him utterly humiliated would be far more pleasing. Let him be exposed as the arrogant ass that he is.”
Prudence stiffened. “If you say so.”
“We need to find a different way to send a message. A more...subtle way. Humiliation. Exposure. Loss of professional credibility.”
Judge and Jury Page 4