Feared

by Lisa Scottoline

  “I don’t understand the question,” Alex answered, and Mary glanced over, proud of him. She had prepared him for his deposition over sandwiches in her office, and he was sophisticated enough to know the basic drill, which was answer only the question asked, don’t volunteer, and if you don’t understand the question, say so.

  “Mr. Chen, why was there no marketing director before you?”

  “If you know,” Mary interjected, which was her favorite interruption. It always served as a reminder to the witness to stick to the facts, and not be helpful or even show off, because the person on the other side of the table was an enemy.

  “I don’t know,” Chen answered.

  Mary returned her attention to the website, since she knew the deposition wouldn’t be important until later. The website read:

  Amanda’s articles and pieces concern a variety of topics, including fast-breaking news stories, business and CEO profiles, and developments in law, real estate, personal finance, and retail in the Philadelphia area. Her specialty is helping people and businesses become major influencers in the Delaware Valley and beyond. Click here if you want to see her portfolio of articles.

  Benedict consulted his notes. “What are your duties as marketing director for London Technologies?”

  “To help market the company.”

  “Mr. Chen, can you elaborate?”

  “Briefly, my job was to oversee our direct mail, and advertising to sell our data integration software to furniture retailers.”

  “Was one of your duties also to attend trade shows?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are they located?”

  “They move around the country.”

  “How often are they held?”

  “Three times a year.”

  Mary half-listened, knowing they were getting closer to why Chen had been called as a witness. In the meantime, she clicked to see the type of article Sussman wrote and skimmed the titles: “5 Common Pleas Court Judges You Need to Avoid, If Possible”; “The Biggest Mob Case You’re Not Watching, or Joey Merlino Strikes Again”; “10 Restaurants Near Family Court That Are Cheaper Than Filing Costs”; and “Around the Roundhouse—An Insider’s Guide to Philly’s Police HQ.” Mary made a mental note of the last one, but was wondering if there was a list of clients anywhere on the website.

  “Now Mr. Chen, was one of your duties also to attend trade association conferences?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many trade associations does London Technologies belong to?”

  “Just one.”

  “And that is?”

  “Home Furnishings Group, or HFG.”

  “How often do you attend those conferences?”

  “Twice a year.”

  Mary noticed a link on the website for “Amanda’s Clients,” clicked, and skimmed the list which varied from restaurants, boutiques and bars, with corporate at the bottom. EDWARD BLACKEMORE & ASSOCIATES, THE GUPTA GROUP, NATHAN & RADDATZ, LLC. Mary recognized them as small law firms, but there was no mention of Machiavelli. Then she realized if Machiavelli had hired Sussman, he would’ve made it confidential, so it probably wouldn’t be on the website. She felt momentarily stumped, then got an idea.

  “Mr. Chen, where are the conferences located?”

  “The October conference moves around the country, but the April conference is in High Point, North Carolina.”

  Benedict turned a page of his notes. “Let’s discuss the first HFG conference you attended. Do you recall when that was?”

  “Yes.”

  Listening, Mary felt proud of Chen again. Anybody else would’ve supplied the more complete answer, but he was proving to be a professionally badass witness. Meanwhile, she navigated to “Contact Amanda” on Sussman’s website and clicked. An email form popped onto the screen, and Mary typed:

  Dear Amanda, It was great seeing you at the Roundhouse today! Rosato & DiNunzio could use an enterprising freelancer like you! Why don’t you ditch Nick Machiavelli and come work for the good guys? Either way, we’ve got your number. Regards, Mary DiNunzio.

  Mary added a CC to Machiavelli, then hit Send.

  “Mr. Chen, when was the first HFG conference you attended?”

  “In October, 2015.”

  “And where did it take place?”

  “At Lake Harmony in the Poconos, at Harmony Spa & Conference Center.”

  “Did you attend alone?”

  “No.”

  “With whom did you attend?”

  “I went with Jim and Sanjay.”

  “And by Jim and Sanjay, do you mean the owners of London Technologies?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did the conference last?”

  “Two days.”

  “Mr. Chen, did there come a time after a breakout session, when you spoke with Jeremy Dietl, president of Home Hacks, one of the defendants in this matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did that come about?”

  “At the end of the breakout session, we ran into one another at the coffee station set up outside the main room.”

  “And did you have a conversation with Mr. Dietl at that time?”

  Chen frowned. “It wasn’t a conversation. It was a threat.”

  Mary smiled inwardly, but said nothing. She hadn’t had to rehearse Chen for that line earlier, because he was dying to get it on the record. Dietl’s statement was a critical proof of their case, showing that EXMS and Home Hacks intended to put London Technologies out of business.

  “Was anyone else present for that, er, discussion?”

  “No.”

  Benedict consulted his notes. “Before we go forward, how many people were at that breakout session, would you say?”

  “If you know,” Mary interjected, just to remind Chen that they were entering enemy territory.

  “I happen to know it was about 120.”

  Benedict nodded, pursing his lips, which wrinkled deeply at the corners. “How is it that you came to be speaking alone with Mr. Dietl, in the crowd of 120 people? If you know.”

  “I was looking for green tea and so was he. It wasn’t on the regular coffee setup, only on the one that was out-of-the-way.”

  “How long was your conversation, er, discussion with Mr. Dietl?”

  “Approximately two minutes.”

  “And what was its substance?”

  “You mean what was the threat he made to me?”

  “Yes, your words.”

  Chen straightened in his chair. “Mr. Dietl said, and I quote, ‘If you keep undercutting us in the subscription market, we’ll disable the logins of any dealer who works with you. We’ll cut you off at the knees.’”

  Mary kept on her professional mask, though she was cheering inwardly. Chen’s testimony had the absolute ring of truth, and he would be a great witness if the case ever went to trial.

  Benedict’s eyelids fluttered behind his bifocals. “Mr. Chen, do you remember that he said those words exactly?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “How do you remember that, though it occurred so many years ago?”

  “You never forget being threatened.”

  Benedict consulted his notes. “Why do you characterize that as a threat?”

  “Because it is. Obviously.”

  Mary relaxed in her chair, since Chen was even more aggressive than she would’ve been, which was perfect.

  “Mr. Chen, what did you mean by ‘disable the logins’?”

  “I didn’t say it, Dietl did.”

  “What did he mean by that? If you know.”

  “I know exactly what he meant by that, because it is what EXMS and Home Hacks started to do to dealers we were working with, the very next week. Dealers who had pushed their data to Home Hacks and EXMS were locked out of their own information.” Chen spoke faster, and the court reporter’s fingers flew. “Suddenly, out of the blue, their logins had been disabled. They couldn’t get into their own accounts. It was corporate bullying, designed to punish dea
lers who were contracting with London Technologies from competing in the data integration workplace.”

  Mary let Chen talk, because he was only revealing how strong he would be as a witness, which could help settlement. Meanwhile, she kept an eye on her email screen, though she hardly expected Amanda Sussman to write her back. In fact, if Amanda didn’t answer Mary’s email, it made it more likely that she was working for Machiavelli.

  “Mr. Chen, how was it ‘corporate bullying’?”

  “EXMS and Home Hacks were both threatened by our business model because we were empowering dealers to keep, organize, and integrate their own data at one-sixth of the cost. EXMS and Home Hacks charged dealers who subscribe $300 a month, and we charge $65. We’re cheaper, better, and fairer, and Home Hacks knew their days of price gouging were over. Gouging is corporate bullying.”

  Benedict cocked his head. “Are you saying that London Technologies was attempting to drive Home Hacks out of business?”

  “Not at all.”

  Mary let them talk, though it was wasting time, which was the downside of a witness like Alex Chen, getting overzealous. If it didn’t end soon, she’d have to intervene.

  “Mr. Chen, how is it an antitrust violation when London Technologies is being driven out of business but not when Home Hacks is being driven out of business?”

  “If Home Hacks hadn’t been so grossly overcharging for its service, then it never would have had its business model jeopardized.” Chen frowned, in derision. “Furthermore, we could never put Home Hacks out of business. Home Hacks and EXMS have the lion’s share of the market, and we’re minuscule in comparison. The only business who will be driven out of the market is London Technologies. That’s why we brought this lawsuit and—”

  Mary interjected, “Excuse me, I think you answered his question.”

  “Oh, right,” Chen said, nodding.

  Benedict kept asking follow-up questions, trying to shake Chen’s testimony, but Chen stuck to his guns and there were no more speeches. Mary listened to him pound away at Benedict and gleefully imagined what her email to Amanda Sussman had set in motion. Sussman and Machiavelli were probably on the phone right now, and Machiavelli would probably fire Amanda, now that her cover had been blown.

  Mary smiled, inwardly. It was a victory, but she knew it would be short-lived because Machiavelli wouldn’t stop.

  Unless she stopped him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Mary sat at her desk, eyeing the papers in frustration. Alex Chen’s deposition had ended an hour ago, but she had been in her office since then with the door closed, on a tear. On her desk in front of her, in three separate piles, were the resumes for the plaintiffs in the reverse-discrimination lawsuit against them, in addition to notes that John had taken during the interview and writing samples they had submitted. She had read everything, but kept coming up empty. She couldn’t find any connection between the three plaintiffs and Machiavelli, which confirmed what Bennie and Roger had concluded. But she just couldn’t let it go. She would’ve staked her life that the plaintiffs were proxies of Machiavelli and that he had manufactured the lawsuit. And her theory was that they must have worked for Machiavelli, either during their summers at law school or even as interns. But no dice.

  Mary sipped some bottled water, trying to think what she could have missed. The waning sun streamed in the window behind her, its tarnished rays falling on the quilt that hung on her wall. Its pinks, blues, and pale greens were usually so soothing, but it was a wedding quilt with a pattern of interlocking rings, which reminded her uneasily of Anthony. He would probably have preferred her to be home, but she couldn’t leave just yet. She had texted him that she would be late, needing the time to figure out what was going on with Machiavelli and how he was connected to the three plaintiffs.

  Mary picked up Michael Battle’s resume, skimming it for the umpteenth time. He worked in general litigation in the legal department at Wheels-up, a private jet sharing service in Wayne. He’d graduated with honors from Villanova Law School and F & M, having graduated magna cum laude. His prior work experience was in the summer associate program at Wolf Block, a large, respected firm in the city, having nothing to do with Machiavelli. Battle’s personal interests were “hiking in Nepal,” so she doubted he had ever encountered Machiavelli on a trip. Nor was there any other geographic connection, since Battle had grown up in upper Darby, a middle-class suburb of Philadelphia.

  Mary set down the resume and picked up Graham Madden’s. Madden worked in general litigation at Hamptons Holdings, LLC, a financial services company in Southampton, N.Y. He had gone to Harvard undergrad and Penn Law, where he was a Legal Writing Instructor. He had grown up in Hempstead, on Long Island, and worked summers at small firms in New York. Mary couldn’t imagine Machiavelli having any entrée there. Madden’s interest was “surfing in Montauk,” so there was no connection to Machiavelli.

  Mary sighed to herself, picking up the last resume, Steve McManus, the applicant John had interviewed. McManus wasn’t from Philly, having grown up in Chicagoland, and had worked summers at Mayer Platt Brown, one of the best law firms in Chicago. His personal interest was robotics, and he worked in general litigation at AI-Intelligence, a robotics company in Cheltenham, with a headquarters in Oak Park. McManus graduated from Temple Law School with honors and the University of Michigan with a degree in engineering.

  Mary set the papers down and eyed her laptop screen, but didn’t bother to search online again. She had searched on Philly and Pennsylvania Bar Associations meetings, as well as Chicago and New York, trying to see if there were any board memberships in common, or even cocktail parties, CLE conferences, or other meetings, but nothing had panned out. She had taken a stab at geographical similarity, but there was none. Machiavelli lived in a townhouse in South Philly, Battle lived in an apartment in Wayne, Madden lived in Brooklyn, and McManus lived in an apartment in Cherry Hill.

  Mary eyed the laptop screen as it went black, racking her brain. She had even looked on the applicants’ social media, but there was no connection to Machiavelli, and she supposed that there could be a random way they could have met, like a train or a plane, but she had no way of knowing. And she had to admit to herself that she didn’t know why the plaintiffs would agree to front for Machiavelli, unless he was paying them a fortune, but they didn’t seem to need the money.

  Her gaze fell on the notes that John had written during his interview of Steve McManus. John had taken about a paragraph’s worth, handwritten on a legal pad, and it wrenched her chest to see his characteristically neat handwriting. He had noted “careful, logical thinker,” “would impress clients,” “ease with math and numbers, could be a plus on London Technologies,” and “serious-minded.” None of it gave Mary any clues as to how McManus could be connected to Machiavelli, and it made her sad all over again to think that John was gone.

  Her office felt a shade darker and a bit cooler, and the sun had dropped behind the buildings. Her phone was lying up on her desk, and she pressed the screen to see that it was 6:13. Judy would be winding up her long, sad day, going to pick up William and buy him a suit for the funeral.

  Mary felt her mood spiral downward, not only frustration at not being able to connect Machiavelli to the plaintiffs, but that so much was up in the air about John’s murder. She feared that Judy was still under suspicion, even though the lead on Shanahan was a good one. She picked up the phone and speed-dialed Judy, who picked up after a moment. “Honey, how are you?”

  “Hanging in,” Judy answered, her tone cheery, so Mary guessed that William was within earshot.

  “Did you get William?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s sad, but he’s okay.”

  “Did Shanahan say anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Have the police been out there?”

  “No. Listen, I’m at the Loew’s hotel. I realized I can’t come back to your house with William.”
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  “Why not?”

  “Your steps are a problem with his wheelchair. Same with my apartment. I should’ve thought about it before. The hotel has handicap access and a bathroom he can use, too.”

  “Oh, right.” Mary realized again that the world needed to do better to accommodate the handicapped. Progress was being made, but not nearly fast enough. “Do you want me to come help you?”

  “No, and I stopped by your house and got the dog, too. The hotel is dog-friendly.”

  “How did you get into my house?”

  “I have a key, remember? So we’re going to check in and chill.”

  “Order room service,” Mary said, trying to cheer her up, but she knew it was useless. “Isn’t there anything left I can help you with? Did you make the arrangements for the funeral service?”

  “I think I got it in control, and Marshall helped. I sent out an email about the memorial service to his friends. His aunt and uncle are flying in tonight and I’m going to book them a room too. And I made a phone call to make sure, and John was, well, um, taken care of today.”

  “Oh.” Mary knew that Judy meant that John’s body had been cremated. Her heart went out to her best friend, who had to be in agony right now. “You sure you don’t need help?”

  “I’m fine. You know, I’m rethinking our theory about Shanahan.” Judy lowered her voice. “It’s hard to believe he did it.”

  “You mean killed John? Why?”

  “Seeing him out there today, he was helping everybody get dinner ready. And he really did seem genuinely sad for William. Maybe Shanahan’s not the nicest guy, and he may have anger issues, but is he a murderer?”

  “Just because he’s nice sometimes doesn’t mean he’s not a murderer.”

  “And I don’t know if it’s enough motive. Even if John had filed that complaint with DHS, Shanahan wouldn’t have been severely penalized. There’s no jail time, there’s not even a fine. He’d just get fired.”

  “So? Losing your job matters, and he’d be blackballed in the business.”

  “I know,” Judy sounded uncertain. “But as a motive for murder?”

  “We don’t know what else Shanahan has to hide. Maybe there’s more in his past. Other crimes, maybe under an alias, anything. It could be anything. Killing John would have headed off any investigation into him.”