The Reform Artists: A Legal Suspense, Spy Thriller (The Reform Artists Series Book 1) (19 page)

Martin, as requested, arrived at Swindell’s office ten minutes early for the Saturday morning settlement conference. Swindell greeted him at the door. He was dressed, informally, in khaki trousers, loafers, and a navy-blue polo shirt, and he was smoking a Meerschaum pipe rather than one of his customary cigars.

Swindell smiled broadly at the sight of his client and ushered him inside. “Mahr-tin, thanks for gettin’ here early,” he said, vigorously shaking Martin’s hand. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he added. “I think we may be in the home stretch.”

Swindell led Martin to a small conference room toward the back of the office’s first floor. “Sit anywhere you like,” he said. “I’m makin’ coffee. Want some?”

“Yeah,” Martin said. “That would be nice.”

“They blinked first!” Swindell had proclaimed in the message he had left on Martin’s cell phone the previous day. “Your wife’s attorney would like to meet with us tomorrow, at eleven, in my office, to discuss a new settlement offer! This is huge, Mahr-tin! Call me as soon as you get this message.”

Martin had replayed Swindell’s message several times while he sat in his motel room, considering his options...He also had wondered why Swindell sounded so excited on the phone.
I have to go. Otherwise, it would look suspicious. But I can’t seriously entertain settling the case – not now – not after accepting Brooks’ group’s help.

Martin wasn’t looking forward to the meeting for another reason: He didn’t expect Katie’s attorney to propose any ‘major’ concessions.
Katie has behaved poorly and tried to take advantage of me from the beginning. Why should that change now?

When Swindell returned to the conference room, he held two mugs of coffee in his hands. Each had a metal spoon sticking out over the top. He placed one down at his seat and the other in front of Martin. Then, he emptied his pockets, tossing assorted sweeteners, napkins, and powdered cream packets in a pile in the center of the table.

“Help yourself, Mahr-tin,” he said, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Here’s where I think we stand. Beverly West says she wants to save all of us the cost of litigatin’ this case by comin’ up with a reasonable settlement package. She also commented on how ‘nicely’ she thought you and your estranged wife had worked together regardin’ young Justin’s birthday. She said it could be a ‘foundation’ for buildin’ a new spirit of cooperation.

“In other words,” he added, adjusting his seat to a more comfortable height, “your wife’s worried about suddenly havin’ to pay to litigate the domestic violence case, a cost she never anticipated.

“And since you took such an extreme stand,” he smiled, raised his eyebrows and nodded, “and we never stepped in with an offer of our own, they’re getting’ desperate.

“This case could be over by Noon today. You may get a much better deal than they originally offered and a better outcome than we could hope for, even if we were to try the case and prevail. I take my hat off to you, Mahr-tin Silkwood!”

Martin smiled noncommittally.

Swindell was particularly eager to settle the case after learning, earlier that morning, about the existence of some potentially damaging new evidence that his paralegal had picked up on a visit to the police department. He hadn’t seen the documents yet, so he saw no reason to share that information with his client.
“Besides, I don’t want him second-guessin’ himself today. It could undermine his perceived bargainin’ power.”
 

Swindell leaned forward in his chair and looked Martin dead in the eye. “So, Mahr-tin, what’s it gonna take to get you to sign off on a deal today?”

Martin stared back and shrugged. “I have no idea, Mr. Swindell. I guess I’d like to be treated fairly, that’s all.”

Swindell grimaced. “Well, what does that mean? What is fair treatment, in your opinion?”

“Why don’t we just wait and see what she’s prepared to offer?”

Swindell tilted his head and studied his client, while Martin took a long sip from his coffee mug. “In my experience, Mahr-tin, it’s always best to enter a negotiation knowin’ what you want – or, at least, what you will accept.”

“You’re probably right, but I’m still trying to figure that out. I think we should just give her a chance to make her case and then take it from there.”

At that moment, Swindell’s doorbell buzzed. “I guess that will have to do,” he said, standing up, “as it appears she’s here.”

Swindell excused himself and went to the front door to greet his guest. Moments later, he returned, following behind West.

She was a trim, heavily made up woman, in her early fifties, with frosted blonde hair, worn in a page-boy style, and cold gray eyes. The eyes, Martin thought, looked even more intimidating than they had in the picture on Brook’s computer screen. West wore a pale blue running suit. Her jacket was partially unzipped, revealing a white cotton shirt and a pearl necklace. She carried a black leather satchel over her left shoulder and a matching, pale blue leather Coach
®
bag in her right hand.

“Bev,” Swindell said, once they were both inside the conference room, “this is Mahr-tin Silkwood. Mahr-tin, Beverly West, your wife’s attorney.

Martin stood up and extended his hand. “Ms. West,” he said.

She flashed him the briefest of smiles. “Mr. Silkwood. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Her handshake was firm –
perhaps a little too firm.

“Have a seat Bev, and make yourself comfortable,” Swindell said, as he placed a mug of hot tea in front of her. “It’s Earl Grey, your favorite.”

“Thank you, Chester.” West surveyed the table with its clutter of sugar and artificial sweetener packets, napkins and powdered creamer and the slightest hint of a smirk formed on her lips. She sat down at the head of the table, with Swindell to her left and Martin to her right. She looked at them both, in turn.

“First, I want to thank you gentlemen for agreeing to meet with me this morning. I also want to apologize for my outfit, but it is Saturday and my next stop is the gym!”

“Don’t be silly,” Swindell said. “You look just fine, Bev.”

Beverly West lifted and dunked her tea bag several times. Then, she squeezed out any remaining tea by placing the tea bag on the spoon and wrapping the string tightly around it. Afterward, she placed the spoon and the spent bag on one of the available napkins that she had slid beside her mug. She closed her eyes and took a sip.

“Mmm. Very good, Chester,” she said. Then, she turned and stared wide-eyed at Martin. “I imagine, Mr. Silkwood, that Chester has informed you about the reason for this meeting, today?”

“Yes,” Martin said.

“Good. Let me start by setting some ground rules that your attorney and I have gone over. Everything discussed in this room, today, Mr. Silkwood, will be considered ‘privileged’ information, meaning no party to this law suit can use anything revealed in our discussions as evidence in court, should this case still go to trial. Do you understand?”

Martin nodded.

“Good,” West said. “As I told your attorney yesterday, I was impressed...and inspired...by how well you and your wife worked together, these past couple of days, to help your son with his birthday party and behavioral issues.

“Consequently, I now think it would be counter-productive and, quite possibly, inappropriate to litigate this matter—especially if that might undo some of the newly established goodwill that seems to exist between the two of you.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Martin said.

Swindell raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” West asked.

“Yes, because Katie and I always have gotten along well, particularly in matters involving our children and their welfare.”

West took a deep breath. “Well, I’m sure you have at various points in the past, Mr. Silkwood, but–”

“No, Ms. West. That has not changed. At least, it hasn’t changed where I am concerned. Has Katie told you anything different?”

West’s expression went blank and Swindell stepped in. “Mahr-tin, I know you were offended by the nature of some of the charges brought against you in this case, but now is not the time to air your grievances, and Ms. West is not allowed – and quite frankly, would be ill-advised – to disclose the nature of her conversations with your wife to you.

“I suggest that we let her get to the heart of the matter: the proposed settlement that she has come to discuss with us this mornin’. O.K?”

“OK,” Martin grunted.

“Fine,” West said, regaining her composure. “As you both know, our original offer was to give Mr. Silkwood dinner with the children one night a week and visitation every other weekend. We are now prepared to alter that arrangement and, in addition, to offer him up to one week’s visitation a month during the school year and up to five weeks with the kids over the course of the summer.”

Swindell perked up. “Well, that’s certainly a step in the right direction, Mahr-tin, wouldn’t you agree?”

Martin stared at West. “What about vacations during the school year? Right now, it sounds like Katie would have the kids for all their vacations. Are you willing to split those up evenly?”

West smiled. “You’ve raised a valid point. That was an oversight on our part, I’m sure. I would be happy to work out something along those lines with your wife. I could even call her and get her agreement to specific terms before we break up this meeting, today, if that’s what it will take to get us all on the same page.”

Swindell nodded. “I think that’s the kind of gesture that could go a long way toward helpin’ us reach an agreement. Mahr-tin, what do you think?”

Martin continued to stare at West. “What about the other stipulations contained in your original proposal?” he asked. “Are you still expecting me to pay the full mortgage and must I still agree not to ‘set foot in the house, for any reason,’ over the course of the next three years?’”

West cleared her throat. “Well, Mr. Silkwood, as far as the mortgage goes, you
are
the primary breadwinner in the family, are you not? So, I don’t think that will be changing. In addition, your wife still wants you to agree not to enter the house, at any time or for any reason, during the next three years.”

“If we work all these issues out,” Martin continued, “then is Katie prepared to drop all the domestic violence and abuse charges?”

“Yes,” West said.

“So, why would she continue to insist on a stipulation that implies she’s afraid of me and that I’m a danger to her and the kids, when I’m not? I don’t understand the logic behind that.”

“I think your assumption may be wrong, in this instance,” West explained. “I think Katie put that item in the original agreement, not out of fear of you, but because she wants to move on with her life without any interference from you.”

Martin stared at West, letting what she had just said sink in. “Well, I’m not going to agree to such terms if I’m paying the full cost of the mortgage, including the part that covers her accommodations.”

“He’s got a point, Bev,” Swindell interjected. “After all, Mrs. Silkwood is a nurse. She has a good job, and she certainly should be capable of paying her own share of the housing costs.”

West had removed a pad and pen from her satchel and was now busily writing down notes. “I can certainly bring that up to her before I leave here today,” she said.

“What about the stipulation that Katie and I agree that it’s OK to start seeing other people immediately?” Martin asked.

West looked up from her pad and smiled. “I would think you would embrace that idea, Mr. Silkwood. Don’t you want to move on with your life?”

“I’m not the one who wants a divorce, Ms. West; Katie is. I wanted us to see a marriage counselor and to work out our differences.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So,” Martin continued, “I’m not really inclined to agree to that term.”

“I think that’s something you and Mr. Swindell should discuss among yourselves,” West said. “But I don’t believe your wife is prepared to concede that point.”

“I have three additional issues I’d like to see addressed in any agreement I’d be willing to sign,” Martin said.

West looked surprised and forced a smile. “OK,” she said, glancing at Swindell, who looked puzzled and was now leaning forward, intently, in his seat.

“First, I want all of my custodial rights restored. The judge, in his ex-parte ruling, gave Katie sole custody of the children, isn’t that right?”

West jotted down a few notes on her pad and then looked up. “Yes. That is correct, Mr. Silkwood. But, and Chester, please help me out here, we could state, in our agreement, which the judge ultimately must agree to, that a primary condition for settling the case would be that both parents share legal custody of the children. I think that’s what you really mean. That would give you both an equal voice, and standing, in resolving any major issues regarding your children’s lives. You would both have to agree, in each instance, before any definitive action could be taken, such as: changing schools, permitting certain medical treatments and making any significant changes of address. (Another way of saying this is that you would share full and equal parenting rights.) To share joint physical custody, however, would require that you both agree to have the children live with you approximately fifty percent of the time. I’m not even sure that would be possible, given the travel-related demands of your work.”