The Reform Artists: A Legal Suspense, Spy Thriller (The Reform Artists Series Book 1) (9 page)

Santori spoke up. “Marty, perhaps I’ve judged you a bit harshly.”

“You think?” Martin asked.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s clear you didn’t fully understand all the ramifications of this thing.”

“Thank you,” Martin said.

“I want you to know, that I, for one, have no doubts regarding your innocence.”

“I’m still on the fence though,” Feldman quipped.

Santori glared at him. “This is no time to joke around, Dave.”

“OK, scratch that last remark.”

“While we might like to force your hand on this,” Santori added, “we would never
actually try to dictate what you should do. That decision must remain yours.”

“I appreciate that.”

“But that said, we also have to protect the firm against any negative fallout. So, until this case is either settled, proven meritless, or the public record regarding it is cleared, we’re going to have to officially limit you to a support role in all current and future audit assignments.”

“What!?” Martin felt the bottom fall out of his already compromised world. “Joe, you can’t be serious.”

“Sadly, I am, Marty. We all discussed it. As far as your clients and staff are concerned, though, your status will not change. You will remain the team leader, but clients will think you’re acting in an ‘advisory, support capacity’ on their projects in order to mentor more junior staff members in the leadership function.”

“This won’t affect the Great Plains audit, will it?” Martin asked, with sudden concern.

“I’ve asked my nephew, Tony, to take the lead on that one, Marty.”

Martin looked stunned. “Shouldn’t that have been my decision, Joe?”

“Too late. I discussed it with him this morning, unofficially, so that he could immediately start getting up to speed.”

“You went behind my back and did that, knowing I was opposed to giving him that level of responsibility?” Martin asked. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.”

“At the time,” Santori said, “whether fair or not, I really didn’t care what you thought.”

“Well, now you can deal with the consequences,” Martin said, rising. “I suggest you buy a plane ticket, fly to Chicago next week, and do your best to manage the audit and mentor your nephew. And ‘good luck’, explaining all of this to Paul Miller, at Great Plains!

“Meanwhile, I think I’ll stay back here and see what I can do to undermine
your
position.” Martin started walking toward the door. “I’m out of here.”

“Wait just a minute, Marty,
please!”
Santori said.

Martin already had unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Why should I?” he asked, turning around. “How much more of your holier-than-thou bullshit do I have to take?”

“Listen, I didn’t do anything to undermine you,” Santori said. “Yes, I went behind your back, and I probably shouldn’t have, but I told my nephew this was part of a new training initiative that we will be rolling out across the board. I didn’t present it, in any way, Marty, as a knock to you.”

“So?” Martin said, opening the door a few inches farther.

“So, first of all, I’m sorry. I will never do it again.”

“Do I have your word on that?” Martin asked.

“Yes.”

“And second?”

“From now on, you will decide who takes the lead and on which projects. Now, please,” he said, gesturing toward the couch, “come back in here so we can wrap this up.”

Martin shut the door. “OK,” he said.

After Martin returned to his seat, Wainwright cleared

his throat. “Marty, there’s one more caveat I want to leave with you. If you decide to settle this matter, do not—I repeat,
do not
—sign a Consent Decree.”

“What’s that?”

“It is an agreement that, without any formal admission of guilt on your part, keeps you, for a period of time, under the judge’s supervision. The closest corollary in criminal law would be ‘probation before verdict.’”

“Why would I ever consider such a thing?” Martin asked. “I want the charges against me dropped.”

“Precisely. You need the record to show that your wife’s case was completely without merit. And for that to happen, the judge must either dismiss the case or rule in your favor. There’s really no other option.”

“Then, signing a Consent Decree is the last thing I would want to do?”

“Right,” Wainwright said, “but that assumes you would be fully and properly informed.”

“Are you suggesting that my lawyer, or any lawyer for that matter, would deliberately mislead a client about something that important?”

“You’d be surprised what happens,” Wainwright said, as he slowly began returning papers to his brief case.

“What I just said, Marty, probably does not apply to your attorney. It appears local lawyers hold Swindell in fairly high regard.”

Martin smiled. “At least that’s good to know.”

“But some of these judges take civil domestic violence charges extremely seriously, far more so than I think they should, given the current state of family law practice. The judge might insist that you sign a Consent Decree before he agrees to drop the charges against you—even if your wife’s attorney has proposed dismissing the case.

“If that happens, Marty,
don’t do it.
Hold your ground and, if you must, go to trial. You’ll do better for yourself and your career by taking your chances and slugging it out in court. Remember, to clear your name you must either win this case or have the charges against you dropped, nothing less.”

“Why are you telling me this, Rick?”   

“Because once you sign a Consent Decree, your case cannot easily be removed from the record. Civil court doesn’t operate the way criminal court does. The court has a completely different process for expunging charges...or convictions. What’s more, should you wish to sue your wife for damages caused by the false domestic violence charges, you won’t be able to remove anything negative from the court record for up to three years!”

Martin’s eyes bulged. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” Wainwright stood up and sighed. “Gentlemen, I believe that concludes our meeting.” He shook everyone’s hand. Then, he turned to Martin. “I hope you come out of this thing whole, my friend.”

Martin attempted a smile. “That makes two of us, Rick.”

Even before Martin had returned to his office, he could feel the shock and panic of the previous Monday night returning. Once more, he shook from an adrenalin-induced fight-or-flight response similar to what he had experienced when sheriff’s deputies abruptly threw him out of his house.

This time, however, his partners had figuratively ‘thrown him out’ of his role as ‘lead auditor.’ He had feared that if they learned about the domestic violence charges they might have forced him to assign junior staff members as backups on most projects. But he had never expected this. They had cast him in the backup role—even if under the guise of mentoring his team in project leadership skills.

Martin desperately wanted to gain some perspective and to sort through what Wainwright had told him, because he now felt completely adrift, without any reliable plan or strategy, and because he suddenly had serious concerns about Swindell’s judgment and forthrightness. He needed the advice and counsel of a good friend.

He decided he would to try to get Ted Gardner on the phone. Once back at his desk, Martin dialed Ted’s work number, only to learn he was in a client meeting that would probably run through the dinner hour.

Martin deeply valued Ted’s advice. Aside from being the successful founder of a commercial construction company, Ted was, at heart, a pragmatist who had a great head for business and a knack for quickly isolating the essential points of any argument or situation. Martin also appreciated Ted’s straightforward communication style. Ted did not mince words or sugarcoat the facts. You always knew where he stood on an issue, and that helped Martin maintain his own bearings. Most of all, though, Martin valued Ted’s advice because he knew it was rooted in their deep, and enduring, friendship. He considered himself lucky to have such a friend.

It was now slightly past five o’clock. While he consciously wrestled with what his next move should be, Martin watched his left arm reach for the phone and his right hand begin pressing keys. He entered Swindell’s direct number and was more than a little surprised, a moment later, when Swindell actually answered the phone.

“Chester Swindell speakin'. How may I help you?”

“Mr. Swindell? This is Martin Silkwood.”

“Mahr-tin, how are you?”

“Not too good.”

“What’s the matter?”

“What isn’t? I just got ambushed by my partners and our firm’s attorney. Somehow, they found out about the domestic violence charges.”

“I see,” Swindell said. “What happened?”

“Well, for starters, they told me this domestic violence case could ruin my career if it succeeds in creating a permanent public record of the charges against me. And they said that’s true regardless of the outcome of the case. They want me to settle with my wife, expunge the public record, if possible, and put the whole thing behind me as soon as possible.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They think going to court at this point would be
insane
and that I should only consider it as a last resort. All of which begs the question, why didn’t I hear any of this from you? Don’t you have a responsibility to advise me against taking such a reckless course of action?”

Swindell considered what Martin said as he tried to formulate an appropriate response. He decided to buy himself a little more time. “Mahr-tin,” he asked, “is your firm’s attorney well-versed in family law?”

“Not personally,” Martin said. “But he comes from a large firm with associates who
are
experts on the subject, and I’m sure he consulted with them before speaking to me.”

“So, in other words,” Swindell added, “you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, but not me? I find that very troublin’.”

Martin could barely believe his ears. “That’s pretty presumptuous of you, Mr. Swindell. I’ve known you now for what, a couple of days? On the other hand, Rick Wainwright has represented my firm for years. I know how he operates. This is not a matter of me blindly trusting a stranger, while second-guessing you. I don’t blindly trust anyone. If you want my trust, you’re going to have to earn it, and the sooner you start, the better.”

“You’re right, Mahr-tin,” Swindell said, back pedaling furiously. “I do apologize. I guess that did sound rather smug of me. In my defense, I can only say that I have been practicin’ law in this area for decades, and I’ve built an excellent professional reputation. Still, I shouldn’t assume that you would be aware of my reputation, or unduly influenced by it, even though you said you found me through the referral of a trusted friend.

“Let me try to address some of the points you have raised.”

“Please do,” Martin said.

“Somethin’ I try to do, as an attorney, Mahr-tin, and I may not have done it well enough in your case, is to gauge each client’s temperament at the outset of an engagement and then adjust my communication style accordin’ly.

“Some clients like to have everythin’ explained to them in advance. Others prefer that I simply tell them what they need to know when they need to know it. The former approach, while offerin’ maximum guidance and disclosure, can be tedious, inefficient and unnecessarily costly. In your case, the decisive way you rejected your wife’s settlement offer this mornin’ may have caused me to misread you. In addition, it appears I may have allowed my pride to influence me as well.

“I initially considered callin’ you back after we spoke about the settlement offer, but then I thought better of it.”

“Why?” Martin asked.

“Well, Mahr-tin, the practice of law, as I do it, involves considerable gamesmanship at times, and by that I mean strategic maneuverin’, posturin’—even bluffin’, if you will. I can act strategically on your behalf, in negotiations and such, because the actions we take and the decisions we make are rarely final. We can generally reverse, rescind or amend them.

“At the same time, my status as an attorney also makes me an officer of the court and that sets ethical limits on me. For instance, I am not supposed to collude with clients in order to achieve certain ends. So, I prefer to use whatever leverage the moment provides.”

“I’m not sure I follow you,” Martin said.

“Hang on, Mahr-tin, I’m gettin’ there! Whether I thought your decision this mornin’ was sound or not, it gave me an openin’ to honestly press the other side for some additional concessions.

“I called Beverly West and told her precisely what you had told me, and I could do that because I had not yet tried to talk you out of that particular decision.

“Now, she pretended not to care, but I’ve been dealin’ with these types of cases long enough to know that your response was both unexpected and unwelcome news. It put them off-balance and improved our bargainin’ position.”

“OK,” Martin said. “I get it. Have they revised their offer, yet?”

“Well, not yet Mahr-tin. We need to allow a little time for that hand to play itself out. In the next day or so, if I mention that I might be able to get you to reconsider a settlement, provided they sweeten the pot a bit, they might then come back with enough additional concessions that a settlement suddenly becomes attractive.”

“I see,” Martin said.

“Did any other developments come out of that ambush that I should know about?” Swindell asked.

“Yeah. I think, in part, to motivate me to drop this, they have effectively demoted me from audit team
leader
to audit team
trainer.

“They are worried that I may not be able to make this thing go away, Mr. Swindell, even if I don’t fight the case in court. And if they’re right, I probably am screwed.”