The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance (37 page)

Dan had her in a cab before she could even say anything.

“Sixth and Market,” he told the cabbie.

“The courthouse?”

“Blackjack’s office.”

“But why? And why did you tell Barry you were my lawyer? And what was that BS about a constitutional right to see your attorney? It may be a low-wage job, but it’s not exactly breaking boulders on a chain gang.”

He pulled out his wallet and extracted a ten-dollar bill. “Take this.”

“Why?” She kept her hands in her lap.

He frowned. “Just take it.”

She took it, holding it by a corner.

“Now give it back to me.” He reached out and plucked the bill from her hand. “You’ve officially retained me as your criminal defense attorney.”

“Dan, that’s crazy. It violates any number of ethical rules.”

His look dared her. “Name one.”

“We used to be lovers. An attorney can’t sleep with his client.”

“But we’re not lovers now.”

“No, but you have to admit there’s a pre-existing relationship.”

He stared straight ahead. “I admit no such thing. If we have a relationship, I’d like to know why I can’t call or see you and why I got a dead fish message on my voice mail. Lou Trioli sounds warmer to me than you do.”

“Fine.” Meghan folded her arms and faced the front of the cab.

“I need to be your attorney for this visit. You can fire me when it’s over.”

“Whatever.” Dead fish? She’d give him dead fish.

The rest of the ride was silent. Meghan reconstructed the white room of emotional neutrality. Dan—well, who the hell knew what he was thinking about.

He got them to the US Attorney’s office without incident. There was a waiting room, complete with the US seal on the wall, with solid letters underneath announcing they were in the United States Attorney’s Office, Eastern District of Pennsylvania. As if anyone could be confused about that.

Meghan looked away. Too much like her visit to Chicago in June.

“Hi, Katrina,” he said to the black woman behind the desk. “I believe we’re expected.”

“Daniel. Yes, you are.” She buzzed, then showed them into a large office.

The US Attorney was younger than Meghan had imagined from his TV press conferences and interviews. In fact, he couldn’t be a lot older than Dan. Nonetheless, something about Blackjack McIntyre pulled her attention away from Dan, which wasn’t easy to do. Meghan instinctively squared her shoulders and stuck out her right hand. “Mr. McIntyre.”

“Ms. Mattson.” He nodded at Dan. “Come sit with me.” He led them to a less formal arrangement of armchairs.

When they were all settled, Jack McIntyre got started. “Ms. Mattson, I’m not going to waste your time. I’ve read the papers associated with your mother’s case, including the original indictment. I’ve also read the court filings in which you agree to be responsible with your mother for the restitution.”

She watched him carefully. He hadn’t said he’d spoken to Walczek. “All right,” she said.

“I have one question.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you agree to pay the restitution?”

She felt caught by his stare. It wasn’t hostile, but it demanded that she tell the truth. “The real reason is that I wanted my mother’s victims to get their money back. Why should they suffer when I was going to be making a lot of money? I thought I’d be able to afford it over a couple years of working as a junior associate but still living like a starving law student.”

“Would you have agreed if you’d known it would force you to drop out of law school?” McIntyre sat back slightly and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“No. That’s where I screwed up. I figured I’d have time. I’d researched their trial schedule and I couldn’t see how they could get to my mother’s trial in under ten months. I should have seen that they might persuade her to plead out. If I’d factored that in, I’d have tried to negotiate the starting date so my payments got deferred for a year. That would have allowed me to graduate. Instead, Walczek got me to sign on the spot. Pretty stupid on their part, as the restitution won’t be paid for years. But even more stupid on my part.”

“Are you literally paying for your mother’s crimes?”

Meghan couldn’t read the US Attorney at all. He looked only mildly interested in the conversation. Her instinct told her to be honest. “Yes, I suppose I am. Someone’s got to, and I’d rather it was me than her victims. I had nothing to do with the scam. I just thought I could better afford to make things whole for those people.”

McIntyre nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.” He reached for the phone on a low wooden cube next to his chair. “Katrina, please get me an AUSA named Walczek in the Chicago office. Thanks.”

While they waited for the call to come through, the men chatted about the Phillies. Meghan jumped when the phone rang. So loud.

“Mr. Walczek, this is Jack McIntyre.” He smiled. “All right, I will. Sam, I’m calling about a case you handled three months ago. Bianca Boudreau and Meghan Mattson. Identity theft. Right. That’s the one.”

He listened for a moment, then crossed his legs, hitching his trouser legs so the crease fell perfectly along his knee.

“Well, I can’t agree that you got a great result. Here’s the thing. I have Ms. Mattson and her attorney, Dan Howard, in my office. Dan’s a former AUSA himself.” He nodded, then cut Walczek off. “Yes, you’re right. It
is
none of my business. Well, apart from my innate concern that the US Department of Justice not abuse its prosecutorial powers by extracting commitments from innocent citizens. Nonetheless, I agree I should not be discussing it. Here’s Dan Howard.” He handed the phone to Dan.

Walczek was loud enough that Meghan could hear the rise and fall of his voice. Finally, Dan smiled. “Mr. Walczek, I’ve been in your shoes, so I get it. You may not have taken into consideration the effect your deal had on Ms. Mattson’s legal career. I’ve spoken personally with the assistant dean at Franklin Law School. Ms. Mattson’s a very promising student. No question she’ll command top salary when she graduates. She can’t attend school while she’s paying off the restitution, so she’s had to take a leave of absence. Without a law degree, she’s not making top dollar, which diminishes her ability to pay the restitution, which benefits no one.”

Walczek must have gone off on a rant because suddenly Dan rolled his eyes and made his free hand into a sock puppet. Open, close, open, close. McIntyre grinned. Meghan choked back a laugh.

“Okay, you’ve expressed your concerns. Let me tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to modify the order so that Ms. Mattson’s payments are deferred for a year to run from today’s date. She’s current with her payments, isn’t she? Excellent. I have the request for modification here. Katrina, Jack’s secretary, will fax it to you immediately.”

Even Meghan could hear the stunned silence on the other end of the call. Dan waited another moment, then said, “Why should you do this? Because you never Mirandized my client. The way I see it, you violated her constitutional rights. On that basis, I can file a motion to have her agreement to pay nullified. I’ll also file a request that you be sanctioned by the Illinois Bar. Oh, and I’ll impress upon Jack that maybe the Department of Justice would want to know what happens when a person of interest arrives to speak to an AUSA in the Chicago office.”

McIntyre waved at Dan to hand the phone over.

“Hold on, Mr. Walczek. Jack would like to finish this call. Look for the motion to modify, okay?” Dan passed the phone over.

McIntyre listened for a moment. “See? I knew you’d see the merit of this, Sam. The victims will be paid much quicker this way. Oh, and Sam? Let’s be clear about something. I think what you did to Ms. Mattson was despicable. You and I both know she’s innocent, as much the victim of her mother as any of the people Ms. Boudreau bilked. More, perhaps, as Ms. Mattson never opted to believe her mother’s too-good-to-be-true promises. I think it says a lot about Ms. Mattson’s sense of honor that she agreed to pay the restitution. Let’s remember that, shall we? She’s a remarkable young woman.”

He got off the phone, probably leaving Walczek still sputtering.

Meghan closed her mouth with a snap. “Thank you so much, sir.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Dan. Entirely his idea. I told him I needed to believe your story for myself. Assuming I did, all I could do was cut the time it would take to resolve this. He impressed upon me that you need to get back to law school, and I agree.”

Meghan stared at Dan, at his relaxed grin and casual posture. He literally had fixed her life when she’d thought it irreparable.

Dan winked at her, then thanked the US Attorney for all his efforts.

“My pleasure. Oh, and Dan, I added to your contribution to Franklin Law’s library fund, so that should take care of the other matter we discussed.”

Dan grinned. “I’d hug you, but as Ms. Mattson’s counsel, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

McIntyre laughed. “No, it wouldn’t.” He turned to Meghan. “Say hello to Libby for me.”

Meghan nodded although she couldn’t think when she’d see Libby again. Even if Meghan could get back to Franklin Law next year, Libby would have graduated.

Dan had them out the door and down to street level before she’d finished processing what had just happened.

They went outside. It was a classic Philadelphia September day. Temperature in the mid-seventies and humidity so high that she was sweating as though it was July. Even breathing felt clammy somehow.

Dan hailed them a cab. “Thirty-eighth and Woodland.”

“The law school?”

“Well, you have to get re-enrolled.”

“But I have no financial aid.” Then she remembered that final comment of Blackjack’s about a contribution. She swiveled to point at Dan. “You’ve greased the wheels, haven’t you? Neither of you went to Franklin Law.”

“Cheap at the price. Look, don’t tell anyone, but Jack’s not poor. Plus, his niece goes there. Leave it at that.”

“Surely I’m too late for this semester?” Meghan could feel the white room dissolving in a sudden rush of anxiety. So close. What if they said she couldn’t enroll without the patchwork of grants and loans she needed to pay for law school? She had applied for them in the spring, but presumably those applications had been trashed. “This will never work.”

“Don’t panic.” He took her hand, warming it with his own certainty.

Ted—Assistant Dean Dorchay—met them immediately. He gave Meghan a huge hug, shook Dan’s hand, then explained everything she would have to do to start school on Monday. He even had some paperwork from the financial aid office for her to sign.

The whole thing took less than twenty minutes. With another hug and a warm smile, Ted assured her she would be in class on Monday morning.

“I think my head exploded,” she told Dan as they walked out to find a cab. She was so flabbergasted that she hardly noticed what address Dan gave the cabbie. She assumed when the cab crossed the Market Street Bridge that he was taking her back to the coffee shop. She checked her watch. Three-thirty. That wasn’t too bad.

Then the cab stopped alongside one of the office towers.

“Where are we going now?” Meghan looked up at the doors—the Mellon Building. Who was in here?

“You’ll see.”

He led her to the far bank of elevators. They got off at one of the law firm reception areas. Bradford Wayne. Depending on who you talked to, either the number one or number two firm in Philly.

Meghan was still looking around—gorgeous Oriental rug, antique secretary, comfortable sofas—when Dan came back.

Everyone seemed to know him. One assistant stood to give him a hug. “She’s waiting for you,” the woman said.

Then they were in a large office on the west side of the building, overlooking the Schuylkill and West Philly. A blonde woman, young and impeccably dressed, stood and greeted them. “Danny. You’re early.”

He pecked her cheek. “All credit goes to Jack and Assistant Dean Dorchay at the law school.”

“Good to hear.” She held out her hand to Meghan. “Well, if Dan won’t introduce us, I will. Hi, I’m Susan Wolfson. Danny calls me Shana.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. Meghan, this is my wife for about five more weeks. Shana, this is the woman I’d very much like to marry someday, Meghan Mattson.”

Meghan shook hands on autopilot. “Hi.” She barely noticed Dan leaving the room and closing the door.

“Have a seat,” Susan said. “Would you like some water, a cup of coffee?”

“No. Thank you.”

Meghan looked at the blonde. Short hair, not pretty but quite appealing especially when she smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m staring, aren’t I? It’s just you’re not…”

“What you were expecting. No, I can imagine. I bet you thought I’d be another Vicky.”

Was that it? Had Meghan assumed Dan could have married some barracuda? “No. Actually I thought you’d be really busy and brittle and abrupt. You’re not. You’re nice.” Meghan flushed at how gauche she was being.

Susan—Shana?—tipped her desk chair back. “And I was expecting someone who’d look really young, twenty-two, and I’d feel every one of my thirty-five years.”

“I’m twenty-seven. Twenty-eight next month.”

“After this summer, you must feel a lot older.”

“I feel older just from this afternoon,” Meghan admitted.

Susan pulled her chair in toward her desk and rested her forearms on the blotter. “I asked Dan to bring you here. No, not to check you out. Okay, maybe a little to check you out. Mostly just to explain.”

“What do you have to explain?”

“Dan and I fell into getting married. I know that’s no excuse, but it’s the truth. My parents really expected it, and his parents were enthusiastic, and my mother desperately wanted throw a wedding for after we took the bar exam. Like it was some huge party.” Susan grimaced. “We were planning to stay together, but we were both completely focused on our careers.”

She looked out the window for a moment. “When I think about it now, I guess we thought we were agreeing to a wedding. We never discussed marriage, kids, any of that. We were together, our parents were just old-fashioned enough to prefer we stand up and say ‘I do’ to each other rather than live in sin, and we couldn’t be bothered to mount any argument either way. Which is pretty much the problem, isn’t it?”