Chapter 5
Maggie Spritzer adjusted the handle on her small travel bag. She kept looking over her shoulder to see the rest of the team, but to no avail. “I guess they’ll catch up.”
“It would appear that way,” Nikki said, looking around to see if she could spot the others. “We have time, so let’s do the coffee thing once we get to town. I need my caffeine fix before we beard the lions of Ballard, Ballard and Quinlan. At least we have a nice day to be in Washington. I love the city.”
Maggie read an incoming text from Myra, followed by one from Isabelle. “They’re running late. I’m up for coffee and some donuts, if we can get some. Let’s hope there’s a café or coffee shop in the building. You feeling any anxiety, Nikki?”
Nikki laughed. “Not one little bit. Just for the record, I really don’t think we’re going to get much in the way of information. Lawyers do not talk, they listen. I might have to use a few tricks, and depending on how sharp they are, they might work. But then again, they might not. Just for the heck of it, I’m thinking positive. Annie’s letter of introduction should have them salivating over the possibility of landing her account.”
“I can’t get over what a nice day it is. Especially after that awful storm at home yesterday. I wonder if it’s coming this way.”
“Nope!” Maggie said as she tapped at her smartphone. “Clear skies and sunny for the next two days. Spring has definitely come to Washington!”
“Here we go,” Nikki said as she got into her car. Maggie slid into the passenger seat. Nikki typed the address of the Ballard law firm into the GPS. Within minutes, they were cruising along on their way further into the city.
“There is a coffee shop inside,” Maggie said once they had parked. She stared down at the app she had just clicked on. “If we want, we can even get a full breakfast. We have an hour to kill, and I am hungry.”
Nikki laughed. “When aren’t you hungry, my dear?”
“When I’m sleeping, and even then, I dream about food,” Maggie said as she pushed through the revolving door. She looked around at the ornate lobby. “Nice digs. Good address. All to impress clients, right?”
“Pretty much,” Nikki agreed.
“According to Google, some wealthy Hungarian guy owns the building.”
“And we need to know this . . . why?” Nikki asked.
“Well, information is power. The more you know, the more power you have. That’s a given. I’ll bet you five bucks Annie knows the guy or knows someone who knows him, and if she put the word out, the Hungarian could evict Ballard, Ballard and Quinlan. He’s probably one of those Hungarian oligarchs, like the ones in Russia with money to burn.”
Nikki giggled as she slid into a leather booth whose seats were patched with gray duct tape. She picked up a paper menu, which had seen better days, and said, “And . . . your point is?”
Maggie grinned as she looked up at the hovering waitress, and said, “I’ll take one of everything. The Big Breakfast. Make the bacon snap-in-two crisp, and I like the butter soft for my toast, three slices, and your syrup is warm, right?”
Nikki ordered an English muffin and coffee. She raised her eyebrows at Maggie.
“Well, if we don’t get anywhere with the firm and Mr. SOP, Annie could ask the Hungarian to boot them out. You know, like blackmail.”
Nikki couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud. “Okay, Wizard Spritzer, send Annie a text and ask her if she knows the guy. Then send Avery Snowden a text and ask him when Ballard’s lease is up.” Getting caught up in Maggie’s excitement, Nikki continued, “Or maybe Annie could buy the building from the Hungarian. That way, she could boot the firm out, unless the lease covers a buyout, but there are even ways around that.”
Maggie stared across the table at Nikki. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you threw the ball. All I did was catch it.” Both women giggled as their waitress poured their coffees. “Think about this. During our meeting, how cool would it be for us to know—secretly, of course—that it is a possibility as we play cat and mouse with the partners. Pretty darn cool, I’m thinking.”
Maggie giggled again, but nodded in agreement. At the moment, the only thing she could concentrate on was her one-of-everything-on-the-menu breakfast.
Forty minutes later, Nikki paid the bill. Then it was a trip to the ladies’ room before the two of them headed for the elevator that would take them to the fourteenth floor, which housed the main office of Ballard, Ballard and Quinlan.
“Four minutes to spare,” Maggie muttered as they opened the heavy mahogany doors leading to the reception area of the prestigious law firm. They both looked around in awe at the expanse of shiny green marble that covered the floors and walls. The reception desk was covered in expensive tooled leather, which was an off shade of green, with gold stripes running through it. The lighting was subdued. The cozy seating arrangements and the fresh-looking magazines were beckoning. Brilliant-colored flowering plants dazzled under the lighting and looked lush and festive.
“It won’t make a difference,” Nikki murmured. “I dig this place. They’ll keep us waiting for at least fifteen minutes to show us how important they are. I give them seven minutes, and we’re out of here.”
Nikki handed her business card to the tony receptionist, and informed her, “As you can see, we’re on time. We will wait seven minutes. If your people can’t see us in that time frame, it’s their loss. Ticktock,” she added, smiling.
“Um . . . yes, yes. I’ll ring for someone to escort you to the conference room. Please take a seat.”
“That won’t be necessary. Seven minutes go by very quickly.”
Nikki turned around to admire the artwork hanging on the wall. She fixed her gaze on Jackson Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm. Definitely not one of her favorites because it reminded her of some crazy wallpaper she’d seen in a Southern antebellum mansion.
“Two minutes and counting,” Maggie said.
Nikki whirled around. She smiled, a cat-ate-the-canary smile, which caused Maggie to laugh out loud. The tony receptionist frowned at the levity. “Seventy seconds and counting.”
Huge double doors behind the receptionist were thrust open, and a pert young person said, “Ms. Quinn, Ms. Spritzer, please follow me.” Which they did, with only thirty seconds to go on the countdown.
To Maggie’s chagrin, the room was empty.
“As I said before, it’s all a game,” Nikki whispered to Maggie. “Don’t read anything into the fact that this room is empty.”
To the pert young person, she said, “I have thirty more seconds before we leave. You can either stay to usher us out or we can find our own way.”
Flustered, the paralegal turned pale. “I . . . I thought . . . they said they . . . they said they would be here.”
“Obviously, they did not mean what they said. So, when we exit this room, we go back down the corridor and make a right, then the very next left. And that will take us to the reception area, right?”
“Um . . . yes, but I think I hear them coming now. Please take a seat, whichever one you want. Ah, yes, here they are,” the pert young thing said as she held the door open for three elderly gentlemen. After they had entered the conference room, she quickly closed the door and ran to tell the rest of the staff about the bitchy women who were meeting with the senior partners and making said partners dance to whatever tune they were playing. The other staff members thought wistfully how much they would enjoy being flies on the wall.
Introductions were made; handshakes ensued; offers of coffee and pastries were declined. Nikki opened her Chanel briefcase, which cost more than three months of the tony receptionist’s salary. She withdrew Annie’s letter and handed it over to Henry Ballard, the managing director and founder of the firm. He read it quickly and passed it to his brother, Alvin, who then passed it to Robert Quinlan.
“I would be remiss if I didn’t say I’m flattered that Countess de Silva would consider our firm for her needs. I think I speak for Alvin and Robert as well.” Both men nodded. “Would you mind telling us how our firm came to the countess’s attention?”
“Oh, she’s friends with your landlord, Yuri Yonovich,” Nikki said airily. “Oh, dear, I hope I’m not spilling secrets here. I just assumed you knew that she’s considering buying this building.”
Maggie almost choked; then she pretended to cough to cover up her surprise at Nikki’s statement and the looks of stunned surprise on the partners’ faces. The cough caused the glasses perched on the end of her nose to fall to the table, then to the floor. Her heart beating trip-hammer fast, she bent down to pick up her glasses and, at the same time, reached up under the table to stick the listening device Fergus had handed over to her as they were leaving for the airport. “If you get the chance, stick it wherever you can,” he had advised.
When she sat up again, she noticed that Quinlan was the first to recover, and he said in a rich baritone, which probably at one time served him well in the courtroom, “We did hear something to that effect a while back, but when nothing came of it, we just assumed nothing was going to happen. By that, I mean we heard Yuri was trying to sell the building, but no names were ever mentioned as to who the buyer might be.” Henry’s and Alvin’s heads bobbed up and down in agreement. Such a blatant lie, Nikki thought. But Quinlan was nimble on his feet, and she had to give him credit for his quick thinking. Never let your opponent think they knew something you did not.
“You lease five floors, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. Is that important?” Henry asked sharply.
Nikki leaned back in the buttery-soft leather chair and, with a cool eye, looked at the three men. All had white hair. All wore contact lenses. All appeared to be in their mid to late seventies. All wore thousand-dollar suits. All wore spit-shined wingtips. All sported manicures and wore Rolex watches. They fit right into this lavish conference room, with the one-of-a-kind teak conference table, with seating for eighteen. The artwork alone was worth a fortune. The eighteen chairs by themselves had to have cost a fortune. The green plants were so lush, they looked like they’d just come out of some rain forest.
“I don’t know, Mr. Ballard. I was just repeating something the countess said to me. We need to be clear on something. Should the countess choose your firm, she only wants it to handle her real-estate holdings. If I’m not mistaken, the number the countess spoke of was around, give or take, four hundred million. Please don’t confuse that with her shipping holdings. That’s for another firm. I would be remiss if I didn’t also tell you that the firm of O’Malley, O’Shaunnesy and McCallister is also being considered to handle her real-estate business. In fact, Ms. Spritzer and I will be in discussions with the senior partners of that firm later this afternoon.”
Maggie watched the partners closely and stifled her grin. None of them liked what Nikki had just said, but she would have bet a year’s salary that all three would put on their game faces. And so they did.
Alvin cleared his throat. His voice was raspy. Cigarette and/or cigar smoker. Maggie looked at his fingers, nicotine stained. Confirmation.
“Excellent firm. Can’t say a bad word about them. Top-notch. Henry, Robert, and I play golf with Seamus and Sean every Saturday morning. And as much as I hate to admit it, they’re actually better golfers than we are. Are they better lawyers? Well, that’s a different question, isn’t it? Still, I think I can speak for the three of us and say we’re flattered to be considered along with them. Having said that, tell us how we can help you.
“Do you want to ask us questions? Does the countess want us to open our books to her financial people? We’ll certainly cooperate in any way we can.”
“That’s for another day and meeting. The countess only has one area of concern, and she thought this face-to-face could put her mind to rest.”
“What would that area of concern be, Ms. Quinn?” Robert Quinlan asked. His tone sounded so neutral, Nikki flinched inwardly. Her first thought was that he already knew what was coming.
“The five lawsuits brought against your firm in the past. The countess has read up on all of them, and I believe that she understands the how and the why of all five. It’s the lawsuit pending with one of your ex-attorneys against Garland Lee that has her concerned. I should tell you, the artist is a personal favorite of the countess. She has every single album she’s ever made. As an attorney who advises the countess, I have to ask you, gentlemen, since your firm is involved, where is this suit going? It’s coming up on three years now, and there doesn’t seem to be any record of settlement talks, and your firm is right in the middle. The burning question Countess de Silva has is this. Did Mr. Forrester leave your firm of his own accord, or was he asked to leave? We also understand he was of retirement age when he left. The countess is very big on transparency and full disclosure. Just so you know.”
Maggie and Nikki both loved the look of surprise on the faces of the three name partners. To say all three were frustrated would be to put it mildly. Henry Ballard stood up first, shook down his designer jacket’s sleeves, and motioned for the others to join him. “I think a small break is called for here so Alvin, Robert, and I can discuss this matter. I hope you don’t mind. In the meantime, please avail yourselves of the coffee. It’s very good. We have it flown in from Brazil once a month.”
Nikki just nodded as she tapped out a text to Maggie: Do not talk, text. I’m sure this room is bugged. I am not referring to your bug, either. Obviously, we need to make an appointment with the Irish firm, like in immediately, since these guys play golf on Saturdays with the big honchos in that firm. Try to make it right after lunch. Apologize for not giving them more time.
Maggie nodded as her fingers flew over the mini keyboard. “Coffee, Maggie?”
“Sure, why not? I don’t think I ever had coffee fresh from a coffee farm in Brazil, have you?”
“Not that I can recall. These paintings are beautiful, aren’t they? The countess would love them. I wonder if they’d mind if I took pictures on my phone to show her. I think I’ll take them, then ask them. If they object, I’ll erase them,” Nikki said.
“I’m sure they won’t object. They seem like nice people, don’t you agree?”
The text message she sent read: Three stuffed shirts full of themselves if I’m not mistaken, but I kind of like them.
Nikki’s return text read: They’re salivating over the possibility of getting Annie’s business. But they aren’t going to tell us anything substantial, even though they’d love to spout off. That’s just my opinion. They’ll come back and say they can’t discuss ongoing litigation. At the very best, they might drop a few hints, but I seriously doubt they’ll go that far.
“Mr. Ballard is right, this is excellent coffee, don’t you agree, Maggie?”
“Absolutely I do. Now I’ll be spoiled, expecting every cup I drink from here on in to taste like this.”
The door to the elaborate conference room opened to allow the three partners to reenter. They were all big men, and the room suddenly seemed full. Nikki looked at them expectantly as they took the seats they had been sitting in earlier.
Henry Ballard, obviously the senior of the threesome and their spokesperson, held up his hand to show he was going to take the floor. “Alvin, Robert, and I spoke, and I’m sure you know, being an attorney yourself, that we cannot comment on ongoing litigation. We can, however, answer some general questions. First of all, you are wrong to assume that no settlement talks have taken place. Actually, we’ve had two such discussions, but nothing was resolved. Ms. Lee’s attorneys filed for a summary judgment, but so far the judge has not ruled on the matter. I don’t know if you are aware of that or not.”
The lawyer cleared his throat, then continued speaking. “The watercooler talk in town is that there are those who hope the judge rules in favor of Ms. Lee and tosses our case to the four winds. I’ve also heard rumors that people have been encouraging Mr. Forrester to drop the case. There are some who—and, again, this is rumor outside the office—have said that Arthur is a greedy opportunist. That’s just idle midmorning talk at break time and over three-martini lunches.” Nikki just nodded, surprised to have been given as much as she had.
“Yes, we are involved in the lawsuit through no fault of our own. We have malpractice insurance, as I’m sure you know. The insurance lawyers are representing us in the matter, with input from the most-senior firm members.
“The other question you asked concerned Arthur’s retirement. When Arthur left the firm, he was of retirement age to do so. He did not have to retire. I will tell you that, to my knowledge, no one at the firm encouraged him to stay or even tried to talk him out of retirement.”
Well, Nikki thought, that’s one way of saying Mr. SOP was asked to leave, without coming out and saying those words.
“And knowing what you already know, I imagine your next question would be what happened to the lawyer Mr. Forrester enticed to file his complaint after he left the firm. She was discharged. I do not know where she is or if she’s even practicing law any longer. There are those who believe Arthur tricked her. True or false, it doesn’t matter. It was unethical, and we had no other choice but to discharge her. Her name was Adela Ash. We have the firm’s reputation to think about. Shenanigans like that are simply unacceptable. As you probably also know, it is Zack Ash, Adela’s husband, who, along with his partner, is representing Mr. Forrester in the original suit. I believe their firm is located in D.C., near where Arthur lives. Somewhere along the way, I also heard a rumor that Zack and Adela had separated and were about to divorce. It may have happened already, seeing as how it’s been three years, but I cannot confirm that. As I said, it’s just a rumor, and as a lawyer, I shouldn’t even mention it. I think that about sums up what we, the three of us, are comfortable saying. If it turns out to be a game changer in regard to the countess, I’m sorry. I meant what I said about the O’Malley firm. I’d like the countess to choose this firm, but I understand the circumstances. Is there anything else?”
Nikki stood up and offered her hand across the table. “No. I appreciate how forthright you’ve all been without violating your ethical obligations. I will convey everything we’ve said here today to Countess de Silva and show no bias whatsoever. Nor will Maggie, who, by the way, is the former editor in chief of the Post. The countess relies heavily on Maggie, so she and I will be sure to tell her how forthright you’ve been. By the way, you were right, that was the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had. Thank you for sharing it with us both. Oh, one last thing. I hope you don’t mind, but I took some pictures of your beautiful artwork to show the countess. She loves art. Of course, I can erase them if you object.”
Alvin beamed. “Not at all. We’re very proud of our artwork and our coffee. Would you like a packet to go?”
“I would love that,” Nikki gushed.
“I would love that, too,” Maggie said.
Alvin scurried out of the room and returned with two five-pound foil-wrapped bags of coffee. The aroma even through the bags filtered all about the room.
“Oh, my,” Nikki gushed again. “When you said packet, I thought you meant for one cup. We insist on paying for this, don’t we, Maggie?”
“No, no, no! We don’t want anyone to construe this as a bribe. It’s a gift from one coffee connoisseur to another.”
Nikki nodded solemnly. “You’re right, of course. Well, thank you so much. Each time I have a cup, I’ll think of you.”
“Now you’re getting it.” Alvin laughed. Everyone joined in, but to Nikki’s ears, the laughter sounded forced.
Another round of handshakes followed; then the two women were in the elevator, which now smelled heavenly of coffee, on their way down to the lobby. Neither spoke until they were outside in the balmy spring air.
“Well, I thought that went well, what do you think, Maggie?”
“I actually kind of liked the old buzzards. I think Mr. SOP sucked them into this. I read up on those other four cases, and they’re standard, nothing earth-shattering. Every firm has a few. You?” Maggie asked.
“As for Adela Ash, I didn’t find anything in my various searches. I’ll try again, but from where I’m standing, it sounds like a dead issue,” Maggie said.
“I’m with you. They did try to help and still fulfill their ethical obligations. I am referring to the watercooler comment. You did pick up on that, right?”
“Uh-huh. Look, Nikki, there’s a UPS Store. Let’s go in and ship this coffee home. I don’t fancy walking around the rest of the day carrying a five-pound bag of aromatic coffee or carrying it on the plane. TSA would probably confiscate it, anyway,” Maggie said.
“Good idea, works for me,” Nikki said agreeably. “Jack is going to go over the moon when he tastes it. So, are we on for the Irish firm or not?”
“Two-thirty. Gives us time for some lunch.”
Nikki stopped in the middle of the street. “You just had breakfast!”
“Yes, but by one o’clock, I’ll be hungry again. Just a quick bite, maybe soup and a sandwich. Nothing big. Hold on, don’t go in the store yet. A text is coming in from Annie.”
Nikki leaned up against the plate-glass window of the UPS Store and watched the foot traffic as Maggie read, then tapped out a response. “Well?”
“They’re at the bank now. A cab just dropped them off. Annie said it’s a Bank of America. It’s not that far from here. Do you want to head up there after we send off our coffee? Moral support, or in case they end up in a sticky situation.”
“Good idea. Let’s do that.”
* * *
The ride to the bank was short, traffic being light even though it was the lunch hour, with busy office workers stampeding to the streets to enjoy the beautiful spring day even if it was just for an hour or so.
Nikki and Maggie entered the bank. Both women looked around to see if Annie and Myra were visible. They were not. “What should we do?” Maggie hissed.
“Let’s go over to the counter and pretend we’re filling out deposit slips. Then we can get in one of the long teller lines that are about out the door. This is the lunch crowd doing their banking before they head back to the office,” Nikki said quietly.
“I’m thinking Annie, even Myra, would insist on talking to one of the head honchos. If I’m right, that means they’re behind closed doors. See that row of shiny doors with the blinds drawn on the plate-glass windows. That’s probably where the high muckety-mucks conduct business,” Maggie said as she scribbled something on a deposit ticket. She turned around to see where the longest line was and nudged Nikki in that direction. “Where the heck are they? One or the other of them should have gotten in touch with us by now. How long does it take to open an account, even if you are Countess Anna de Silva?”
If someone had been able to answer Maggie’s question, he or she would have told her that both Annie and Myra were sitting in the president’s office, filling out papers that would allow both to open sizable brokerage accounts.
Annie looked at the stack of forms in front of her and grimaced. “Mr. Holiday, before we continue with our business here, would you be so kind as to show my sister your vault. We’re going to require four safe-deposit boxes. One stand-up and three of your biggest boxes. I’d go with you, but when we came here, I stepped off the curb the wrong way and my ankle is starting to throb. While you do that, I’ll finish all this paperwork so we can be on our way. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
“Absolutely not, Countess. Do you want one of my people to help you?”
“No. I’m fine. Just close the door when you leave. I don’t like people staring at me and nudging their friends to notice me.”
“I totally understand. If you’re sure you’re okay, then I’ll be happy to show Ms. Cabot our available vaults,” Holiday said, using the name Myra had given him when they were introduced.
Annie thought she would explode right out of her skin as she waited to hear the door close. She already had the tiny flash drive in her hand. Seven minutes was all she needed. Or was it ten? She wasn’t sure. She catapulted out of her chair, stood up, and swung the computer around until it was facing her. She inserted the flash drive and then typed in Arthur Forrester’s Social Security number and waited as she hardly dared to breathe. A blizzard of numbers, symbols, and what looked like spreadsheets appeared on the small screen. Annie clicked the keys and started to pray. “C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered under her breath as she watched the minute hand on the treasured Mickey Mouse watch that adorned her wrist, the watch she was never without because she so loved the great big numerals. She was so light-headed from what she was doing that she almost blacked out. “Faster, faster,” she muttered. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. She was getting everything, Mr. SOP’s checking account, his IRAs, and his brokerage accounts. She tried to focus; then she tapped in letters that would give her Mr. SOP’s entire banking reports from the day he opened his first account. The knowledge of what she was downloading, along with a vision of herself in an orange jumpsuit, waiting in some federal prison for visitors, was almost more than she could bear.
Annie looked down at the minute hand on her Mickey Mouse watch. Seven minutes, seven and a half minutes. Maybe it was a mistake to ask for the entire banking history. The computer pinged. Download finished. As quickly as she could, she removed the flash drive and tapped again so that the original screen appeared. She swung the monitor around so fast, she thought it was going to sail right off the desk. Eight minutes total. Damn, I’m good. The vision of her in an orange jumpsuit, waiting for visitors, disappeared. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her knees, taking deep breaths; four-seven-eight, they called it. Four deep breaths, hold for the count of seven, and then exhale to the count of eight. She had to do two series of four deep breaths before her heart rate returned to normal.
Annie quickly reached for the pen and finished filling out the papers in front of her. She finished just as Kyle Holiday ushered Myra back into the room. Both were smiling.
“Ah, I see you finished. And we were successful with the vaults. Your sister has the keys to all four of them,” Holiday said as though he were offering up the Holy Grail.
“That’s wonderful, Mr. Holiday. I just called my financial manager and he will be calling you in the next hour or so after he returns from lunch. From here on in, you will be dealing with him. His name is Connor. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Holiday. I hope all my financial dealings with your bank will be just as pleasant.”
“I think I can guarantee it, Countess. Let me walk you out.”
That was the last thing Annie and Myra wanted, but they obediently followed the bank president out to the lobby of the bank, where the teller lines had dwindled to a mere trickle.
“Quick! Quick! Your ten o’clock. There are Myra and Annie, with, I assume, a bank officer,” Maggie sputtered.
Myra spotted Nikki and Maggie out of the corner of her eye. Stunned, she stumbled, but the banker quickly reached for her arm.
If nothing else, Annie was quick on the draw. She saw Nikki and Maggie at the same time Myra did, but she didn’t stumble. “That’s so like you, little sister. Just because I hurt my ankle doesn’t mean you have to, too.” She giggled as she pushed her way through the revolving door, with Myra behind her and Nikki and Maggie behind Myra. Both women waved to the banker, who waved back.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going to look for the nearest bar and order a double or triple shot of something. I got it all. Honest to God, I got it all!” Annie cackled as she set off down the street, her “twisted ankle” totally forgotten, and the others running to catch up with her.
“All his banking records?” Nikki asked in awe.
“Every last one.” Annie cackled again.
“Then all right! Let’s find a place for food and drink to celebrate! It’s lunchtime,” Maggie said. “Of course, to my way of thinking, it is always lunchtime somewhere in the world. Don’t you all agree?”