The Reform Artists: A Legal Suspense, Spy Thriller (The Reform Artists Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Is that so?” Martin said, trying to suppress a smile.

“She was my personal secretary,” Santori shrugged. “Back then, everyone had one. Now, we all have PCs and laptops.”

“Actually,” Feldman said, “it could be argued that
she
was your laptop.”

“That’s funny, Dave. Who are you paying for all this new material?”

“No need for professional help, Joe, not the way you keep setting me up.”

Martin decided this was a good time to leave. He stood up. “Well, I guess I should be getting back to work.”

Santori walked over to Martin and draped his arm around the younger, and shorter, man’s shoulders. “Despite Dave’s irreverent, hell, annoying demeanor this morning—”

“Thanks for that!” Feldman interjected.

“I want you to know that we appreciate you sharing this information with us. I’m sure it wasn’t easy. But it helps to know about any potential bumps in the road—particularly now, with everything that’s going on. The partner agreement may shield us financially, but, as you know, an ounce of prevention—”

“No problem,” Martin said.

They were now standing at the door. Santori gripped Martin’s arm above the elbow and searched his face. “I know some of what I said didn’t sit well with you, but please consider my offer of help to be genuine and open-ended. Whatever you need, we’ll provide it.”

“OK,” Martin said, somewhat dismissively.

“Marty, before you go, is there anything else we should know about? Anything regarding the divorce that you think could cause us trouble?”

“No,” Martin said, with a gulp. “As you said, I think this is my personal problem, not the firm’s.”

“I hope you’ll consider talking with Rick Wainwright at some point, if for no other reason than to get a second legal opinion. That’s why we pay him that fat retainer of his—and, of course, it would be free advice for you.”

“Let me sleep on that, Joe, OK?”

“Sure. Now, one last piece of advice, boychik: Make sure you tell your team about the divorce—preferably, today. Don’t make a big deal about it; but they have a right to know, and they should hear it from you. You’ve earned their trust; now, keep it. OK?

“Sure, Joe.”

“Good. Hang in there, pal.”

“I will.”

As the door shut behind Martin, Santori turned toward Feldman. “The poor bastard has no idea what he’s in for.”

“Yeah. Well, he’s real close to his kids.”

“Do me a favor, Dave.”

“What?”

“Call Wainwright. Marty’s so damn tight-lipped, I doubt he will. Ask Rick to find out what he can about the wife’s case: who is representing her and how they typically play. I don’t want our boy getting blindsided—especially now, with so many audits in the pipeline.”

“Now that you mention it,” Feldman said, suddenly straightening up in his seat, “neither do I.”

The rest of the day passed slowly for Martin. He worked through lunch, finalizing the Great Plains Company audit strategy and then met briefly with his staff at two o’clock to tell them about his separation. Everyone seemed to take the news rather well, he thought. But, as the day wore on, he kept mulling over his meeting with Santori and Feldman. Each time he did, Martin grew more concerned. He now realized how wise he had been to keep most of the details about the divorce to himself.

Martin shuddered to think how Santori might have reacted had he known about the Temporary Restraining Order and the domestic violence charges. Instead of “suggesting” that his nephew, Tony Battaglia, serve as a backup audit team leader, Santori probably would have insisted on it—and not just for the Great Plains audit, either. He might have demanded that Martin start preparing understudies for all his big accounts. Feldman would have been all over him, too, if only for sport.

Both men clearly were worried about the firm’s bottom line, but for completely different reasons.
Feldman wants the firm to achieve record-breaking profit
s
—
to assure him the highest-possible buyout. That’s obvious.
But what has gotten Santori all stirred up?

He doubted that Santori had only just now realized that the firm’s most profitable work—its audits—was under the control of a single person. Then again, there was no mistaking the look of relief he saw the two men exchange when they realized he had come to discuss his pending divorce—and nothing more.

What had they expected?
Did they think I was going to 'hold them up?’ Were they afraid another firm had made me a better offer?

Santori had seemed uncharacteristically anxious.
What was that about? Was he worried that Feldman’s departure would leave too big of a management void?

While it was true that Feldman had single-handedly run the firm’s day-to-day operations for years, he had been carefully grooming Nancy Spellman and Ed Rosenzweig to share his responsibilities. For the past six months, the two junior partners had been doing most of Feldman’s work, without so much as a hiccup. (Eventually, the senior partners figured, the stronger candidate would emerge to become the firm’s next managing partner.)

So, if Feldman’s departure isn’t making Santori anxious, what is?

Then, it hit him. Perhaps, in dealing with Feldman’s retirement, Santori, who was next in line to step down, had become aware of the financial risks associated with the firm’s most glaring management shortcoming: its lack of effective succession planning and leadership training.

That could explain a lot.

Unfortunately, none of this made Martin feel any better about his current situation. Instead, it made him keenly aware of just how potentially damaging Katie’s actions might be. If he wasn’t careful, she might not only destroy their marriage; she could end up derailing his career as well.

Whatever hesitancy Martin initially had felt toward the underground group was now completely gone. It began to disappear the moment the Sheriff’s deputies had served him with that Temporary Restraining Order and had kicked him out of his home. Everything that had happened since then had only served to confirm just how precarious his life had become.

Martin longed to take the offensive. He desperately wanted to turn the tables on Katie, and he wanted to do it as soon as possible. But if that were to happen, he was going to need far more help than he could expect from Chester Swindell. The underground group was beginning to look like his only real option, but he hadn't heard a peep out of it since the man on the subway first made contact with him almost twenty-four hours earlier.

With his mind made up to accept their help, Martin entered into a constant state of readiness. He saw underground operatives everywhere. When the phone rang, he jumped. He studied every new face he encountered and looked for hidden meaning behind every harmless gesture or casual remark.

His overreaching efforts caused him to give every new person he encountered the third degree. Even the deli delivery boy appeared rattled when he left Martin’s corner office at lunchtime. “What’s with that guy?” he had asked a member of Martin’s support team. “He asked me all kinds of questions, and he seemed overly interested in everything about me. It was creepy. I thought he might have been coming on to me or something.”

“No, I assure you,” she said. “He just hasn’t been himself lately.”

“Well,” the delivery boy said, “until he is himself again, I’m going to leave his lunch orders with you, OK?”

For Martin, the day proved to be an excruciating awakening of sorts. As word of his pending divorce spread through the firm, sympathetic associates began coming out of the woodwork. More than half a dozen colleagues approached him and shared their own intense, deeply personal divorce stories. Previously, the most information he had exchanged with many of them had been mutual grunts of recognition on the elevator, at the water cooler or in the hallways. But now, they were suddenly bound together by tragedy.

At 5:00 p.m., when he folded his coat over his arm and headed for the elevator, Martin knew that he had been living in a bubble most of his married life. Divorce and divorce-related horror stories appeared to be everywhere, and yet he hadn’t had a clue. Martin wondered whether he had been unusually oblivious or if divorce was just one of those deeply personal disasters that victims prefer to talk about strictly among themselves. He finally decided that, in his case, at least, it was a little of both.

“You’re an hour late,” Esther Finch announced as her daughter stepped through the front door of the family home. “You promised me you’d be here by four at the latest.”

Katie Silkwood put down her pocketbook and shopping bag, hung her coat on the front hall banister and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom. After my shift at the hospital, I had a few quick errands to run. Everything took longer than I imagined.”

“I don’t like being taken advantage of, dear.”

“I know. You’re right. But cut me a break, will you? I’m new to this ‘single mom’ business.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Katie frowned. “Do you really want to go there, Mom? Besides, you got to spend an extra hour with your grand kids. How terrible was that?”

“That’s not the point.”

“OK, OK:
Mea culpa.
”

“Precisely, dear. Call ahead next time—and ask.”

“All right, I will.” Katie picked up her shopping bag, stepped forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. Then, she looked around the pristine living room.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said with genuine admiration. “The place is spotless…and so quiet. Where are the kids?”

Esther smiled. “Monica’s taking a nap, and Justin is playing one of his video games in the den.”

Katie walked toward the kitchen. “How were they for you?”

“Monica’s just like a little baby doll, so sweet and pleasant.”

“And Justin?”

“That boy never stops talking! He gave me an earful. Told me all about some game he and the other kids invented at lunchtime. He started talking about it the moment he got off the bus, and he didn’t stop until about a half-hour ago.”

As Katie emptied the shopping bag, Esther began putting the various items away. “I think they’re happy to be home, dear.”

“Of course they are, Mom. This is what they know.”

“Justin really misses his dad. He kept asking me when Marty was coming home. I think he’s hoping his dad will be here for his birthday party, Saturday.”

Katie froze. “He won’t be, Mother.”

“Not even for Justin’s party, dear? The boy only turns seven once.”

“No, Mother. I’ve already explained this to you. The restraining order says ‘no contact’ until after the hearing next Monday. And ‘no’ means ‘no.’”

“Justin doesn’t know from restraining orders, sweetie. And you don’t need to tell the judge everything, do you? Let the boy have his daddy at his party!”

Katie stopped emptying the grocery bag. She closed her eyes and frowned as she took a deep breath. “Why don’t you just
mind your own business
Mother?!” she finally blurted out. “Justin will get over this a lot sooner than you think. Kids, these days, are very resilient. At least, that’s what all the studies say.”

“So, that’s it, dear: marriage over?”

“Yesss!” she hissed, attempting, once more, to reapply the dampers. “Please respect my wishes on this.”

“I can’t. I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. You’re willing to destroy your marriage and to turn your kids’ lives upside down…for what? I think you are making a huge mistake.”

“After everything I’ve told you about Marty’s behavior, I would think you’d understand.”

“Just what did he do that was so bad? Call you a few names? Raise his voice now and then?”

“Yes! And whether you know it or not, that’s abusive behavior.”

“Says who?”

“My lawyer, for one.”

“Of course,
she
says so, dear. That’s how she makes a living, by getting clients like you all riled up. Did you tell her how you get when you’re angry?”

Katie put her hands on her hips and glared. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on, dear! You forget; I raised you. I’ve lived with that mouth of yours—and your temper. I’ve heard you yell at Marty during your ‘special times.’ I’ve heard the vases and dishes break, too. And Marty wasn’t the one throwing them. So, by your own definition, you’re as much at fault as he is—maybe more.”

“That’s not true, Mother.”

“Of course it is!”

“No,” Katie said, lowering her head and turning away. “Marty assaulted me.”

“What?!” Esther grabbed her daughter by the shoulders, spun her around and searched her face. “Marty hit you, honey? I had no idea. That changes everything. Where? When?”

Katie tried to dodge her mother’s piercing gaze. “He didn’t actually
hit
me, Mom.”

Esther threw up her hands. “Then I don’t get it,” she said, pulling out a kitchen chair and collapsing into it. “How could he have assaulted you without hitting you?”

Katie looked down at her mother with disdain. “You’re not a lawyer, Mother. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me, dear.”

“Beverly, my lawyer, said the true test for assault is if Marty’s actions ever made me feel scared or threatened, in any way; and they have. ‘Assault’ means any kind of threatening, abusive behavior. You’re confusing ‘assault’ with ‘battery.’”

Esther looked at her daughter as if for the first time. Then she burst out laughing. “What kind of nonsense are you and that lawyer of yours peddling, Katie? Do you really expect me to believe that you’re afraid of Marty?”

“I am, sometimes.”

“Good luck with that, dear.”

“You don’t know what happens in this house when you’re not around, Mother.”

“Katie, the man treats you like a queen!”

“Oh, really?”

“He lets you sleep in on weekends, doesn’t he?”

“Sometimes.”

“He still opens doors for you and carries your bags?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t object when you took over all the master bedroom closets, did he?”

“What does that prove?”

“Just answer the question, dear.”

“Who
are
you, Denny Crane?”

Esther stared at her daughter and waited.

“OK, yes. He didn’t object.”

“—even though he had to store all of his clothes in the spare bedroom closet down the hall?”

“Yes.”

“He shares the household chores with you?”

“More or less,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“He lets you manage the joint checking accounts, too?”

“Uh huh.”

“He never asks you to return anything you buy for yourself—no matter how expensive, frivolous or extravagant?”

“That’s right.”

“He adores the children and dotes on them?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no wonder you want a divorce. The man’s a freak, a total monster! And just like all the abusive husbands that I’ve ever read about, his personality profile sounds so controlling and demanding, too.”

“I guess we won’t be calling you to testify on my behalf at the trial.”

“Not if the truth would hurt your case, dear, as it appears it would.”

“Mother, you don’t know what the truth is in this matter. You think you do, but you are only here a fraction of the time.”

“Well, since we’re discussing ‘the truth’ dear, how much of this has to do with ‘Uncle Eddie?’”

Katie went to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. “Who?” she asked over her shoulder.                           

“Uncle Eddie, dear. Your friend. The one your children have told me about.”

Katie remained at the sink but now turned around to face Esther. “Oh, Eddie. He’s just a friend. A concerned friend. That’s all.”

“A concerned friend who takes you and the kids out to dinner and to the movies and spends his evenings here with you?”

“Where are you getting all this information?”

“From the children, dear. They see what’s going on, even if they don’t fully understand it. Have you lost your mind, Katie? This is madness!”

“Mother, please stay out of my personal affairs. And if you can’t be on my side, please keep your opinions to yourself. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. My marriage to Martin is over. Over. We’ve been in a rut for some time now, and yes, if you must know, I finally have a chance to be happy...with Eddie. I’ve hired a great attorney, who comes highly recommended. She says she can help me end the marriage, come out on top, and begin a new life. So far, she’s helped me get a restraining order, sole custody of the kids, and exclusive use of the house; and that is just the beginning.

“Beverly says Martin has an enormous amount to lose, professionally, if he were to fight me on this, far more than I do. We worked up a reasonable settlement offer for him—one Beverly says he would have to be crazy to refuse. She expects to have everything wrapped up in just a few days’ time. OK?”

“No, it’s not OK. Are you now comfortable lying to get your way? I raised you better than that. You’re perjuring yourself, dear, and that has consequences.”

“Oh,
my God
, Mother,” Katie said, laughing and shaking her head. “Do you really think anyone’s going to send me ‘up the river’ for this? I’m the battered spouse, here, the injured party. Marty is the abuser. Besides, Beverly says perjury is extremely hard to prove. The courts rarely, if ever, even pursue perjury convictions in these kinds of cases. Did you know that?”

Esther shook her head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Of course not! Well, those are the facts, Mom. Beverly West has represented hundreds of women like me, in similar cases, for more than twenty years, and do you know how many of her clients have ever been charged with perjury?”

“No.”

“Zero. And do you know why?” Katie asked, without waiting for a reply. “Because, Beverly says, in these cases, the victims actually determine whether or not they have been assaulted.

“As long as the victim can honestly say that she felt scared or threatened by her husband’s actions, then he has committed assault. It’s that simple. The charge stems directly from how the behavior makes the victim feel. And how can you dispute someone else’s feelings? You can’t.”

“But, Katie,” Esther said, “Marty is a reasonable man. Why not do this nicely? Why do you have to make everything so ugly and mean spirited?”

Katie sat down at the table now and took her mother’s hand. “If I could do this nicely, Mother, don’t you think I would? Marty’s far too attached to the kids. He loves them and will not allow me to end this marriage, or give me full custody, without a fight. He makes a lot of money, Mom, and the children deserve to get as much financial support from their father as the law allows.

“If he were to get angry enough over this, he might try to hurt me by refusing to provide full support for the kids. I have a parental responsibility to protect them from that.”

“Why would Marty do such a thing?” Esther asked. “He loves the children. I can’t imagine him denying them anything.”

At that, Katie forcefully withdrew her hand from her mother’s—as if the older woman had suddenly contracted Leprosy. “Whose side are you on, Mom?”

“Well,” Esther began, a bit startled and fumbling for the right words, “I-I’m on the kids’ side, of course...and yours, too, dear. After all, you are...my blood.”

“Glad to hear it, Mom!” Katie said with more than a hint of sarcasm. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Then, she leaned forward, opened her eyes again and, once more, took her mother’s hands in hers.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said, a smile slowly returning to her face, “because the last thing those kids need now would be to lose their grandmother, too.”