Death at the crossroads, p.43
Death At the Crossroads, page 43
part #2 of A Camelia Belmont Mystery Series
“Guys, all my weeks are rough these days, with Suzanne . . .” he trailed off. “But I don’t want to talk about her cancer treatment and all that. I’m just happy to have work to take my mind off all the sadness at home right now.”
Jim glanced at Eric, then set his drink on the table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy to lose Kaitlyn, either. You two were pretty close.”
Here it comes.
“Closer than I’m comfortable with, if you want the truth,” Eric said, his Southern Kentucky drawl slipping out. “Aaron, you know I’m not the morality police, but good god a’mighty. Y’all been pretty loosey goosey lately”
“Yeah, Carol is livid about that video. Especially given the way Kaitlyn died, in Suzanne’s car,” Chuck said. “And if you must know, it’s the reason my assistant quit. She said it was no longer the kind of firm she wanted to be associated with.”
“And how does your assistant know anything about it?” Aaron asked.
“Jesus, Aaron. Do you really not know? Somebody leaked that video the day after we got the email. It’s on YouTube,” Chuck said.
Aaron felt his ears get hot.
Why isn’t Saminski keeping me informed?
He looked at the three men before turning his gaze to Dave Weisman. He was the youngest of the senior partners, hand picked by Aaron twenty years ago. Dave was tan, fit, and one of those guys who looked good bald.
“Et tu, David?” Aaron said.
“Hey, it’s not like that,” Dave said. “We’re just concerned friends, that’s all. And we want to make things better for you. For all of us.” He spread his hands in a gesture of peace.
But Aaron knew there were knives at the ready.
“And how do you propose to make things better? Do you have a cure for cancer up your sleeve?” Aaron smirked and took a sip of sangria.
Jim cleared his throat. “Aaron, this isn’t an easy conversation to have, but we might as well get the business over with. We’ve all agreed,” he glanced around to the others. “It’s time to sell our shares and move on. Give you a chance to regroup after all the . . . trouble you’ve had.”
Aaron felt the room tilt a bit. His head was swimming. A bolt of pain ran down his arm.
“Trouble?” He almost choked on a sip of sangria. “You call ovarian cancer trouble?”
Jim glared at him. “No, I do not. And you know damn well that’s not what we’re talking about here. It’s been a long time coming, Aaron. Kaitlyn was one too many.”
“Oh, really? Like none of you’ve ever had your hand in the cookie jar?” Aaron glared at each of them in turn. “Fucking hypocrites.”
The click of heels on the patio heralded Ginny’s approach and the men went silent.
“How about some chips and salsa? And I’ve made guacamole from the Barrio Queen’s recipe book.” She set a tray on the coffee table between the men, then looked up.
“It looks perfect, Gin,” Jim said. “But we’re in the middle of something right now.”
She glanced around. “Don’t mind me! I’m not even here! If you need anything, just whistle.” Ginny waved as she walked back into the house.
Chuck started digging in the guacamole with a chip, cramming it into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.
Still stress eating, Charlie?
“It sounds like you haven’t talked to Ginny about any of this, Jim.” Aaron took another sip of sangria, trying to get his heart to slow down. “Maybe she’d like to weigh in on some of your side pieces.”
“Never mind Ginny. She’s ready to rip your face off over the charitable trust bullshit.” Jim licked his lips. “But look, this isn’t personal, Aaron. This is a business decision. Nothing more. We wanted to talk to you outside the office before we . . . the truth is, I’ve lost half a dozen clients already and I’m sure more are going to drop us. The staff have put all of us in the same box, assuming we condone your . . . shagging the help. And the female associates are about to declare mutiny if we don’t come up with a one-strike rule for inter-office relationships.”
“So far, four of our lady lawyers have tendered their notice in response to the video, citing a hostile work environment,” Eric said. “And while I agree they’re totally replaceable associates, the optics are unfavorable, Aaron.”
The pain in his chest was making it hard to catch his breath. Aaron fumbled in his pocket for a nitro pill. He’d put one in his pocket, hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember, now. He wasn’t finding anything other than lint.
“Gentlemen, I’m well aware of the challenges we’re facing, no thanks to a greedy little slut who seduced me, duped me into an affair—”
“Oh, Aaron, please. Save that tall tale for your family. We know you better than that,” Eric drawled. “You’ve been banging the help from day one. Not that I give a good goddamn. But when it hits the bottom line . . . You’ve been lucky up to now. But believe me, this mess with Kaitlyn is goin’ to cost all of us. There’s lost client revenue, then there’s staff and associate turnover, and never mind the muddied reputation.”
“Eric’s right,” Chuck said around a mouthful of tortilla chips. “This is going to cost us all, and not just in dollars. You know damn well I’ve been planning to apply to the bench this fall. Well, I can kiss that goodbye. I’ll never get appointed now, not with your baggage on my back.”
“How is any of this my fault?” Aaron said, louder than he intended. “I’m the goddamn victim here! My wife decided to divorce me after more than thirty years and then I find out she’s dying of cancer. A rogue associate set me up, entrapped me in an affair I had no interest in, then exploited the whole situation by releasing that video which, again, she set up. And then she stole my wife’s car and wrapped it around a light pole. How the fuck is any of that my fault?”
Jim cleared his throat. “You might feel like the rug is being pulled out from under you, but come on, Aaron. You aren’t the victim of anything. Suzanne isn’t divorcing you because she has cancer. Everyone in town knows about your affairs. We all know who you are.” He looked to the others for reassurance. As they nodded, Jim continued. “But it’s not just a bit of reckless fun anymore. Prostitutes at conferences, at least a dozen secretaries and paralegals, and now attorneys. But not just any attorneys. Our own attorneys! All told, the firm has paid out almost a million dollars over the years to hush up your girlfriends. The going rate’s $50k. Did you know that?”
Aaron felt the weight of their judgment pressing down, tightening around his ribs. These two-faced bastards were actually accusing him of some kind of moral failure? He’d show them.
“I think it’s called severance pay,” Aaron said, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah? Well, whatever you call it, I think we got off cheap,” Chuck said. “One lawsuit could have cost that much.”
“No, Chuck, we’d be getting off cheap if we didn’t have to pay off any humiliated girlfriends when Aaron cut them loose,” Dave said. He turned to Aaron. “At this point, I think you need to admit you have a serious problem. Call it sex addiction if it makes you feel better, but I’d say it’s more in the realm of unchecked narcissism.”
“Oh, now you’re a fucking psychiatrist, David?” Anders was working hard to modulate his breath around the pain radiating through his chest.
“No, Aaron. I’m not a psychiatrist, but my wife is. Unlike you, I still have a happy marriage, and don’t think we haven’t discussed your habits a hundred times.” Dave poured himself some sangria and took a quick gulp. “She’s the one who diagnosed you, not me.”
Aaron looked around at the four men. He could see the daggers in their eyes, the disgust on their faces.
“Guys, this is an easy fix.” Aaron steadied himself on the couch before standing up. “You’re all released from your contracts. Your personal items will be delivered to your homes on Monday. As of now, your access to the office is terminated. And you can all go fuck yourselves.” He turned to leave, but had only taken a step when Jim called out.
“Aaron, we’re not done. You forgot something.”
Aaron turned back to face him. He felt nauseous, woozy, and sweat was seeping through his shirt.
“Yeah? What’s that, Jim?”
Frost had a satisfied smile on his face. “Based on our shares, we,” he gestured at the other men. “Are the majority. Well, one of the voting members isn’t here, but we all voted to sell. Eric, can you give Aaron his copy of the signed agreement, please?”
Eric stood up and handed Aaron an envelope.
“What the hell is this?” Aaron asked, tearing open the manila envelope.
“I warned you back in February we were all done playin’ along with your charity scheme and your extracurricular shenanigans. This is a buy-sell agreement. By releasing us,” Eric made air quotes around releasing. “You’ve bumped up our departure date by a month, but we could all use a couple of weeks off before we move into our new offices at Sherman Wright.”
Sherman Wright? What the hell were they playing at?
“Ha! Nice try. I’m still the majority shareholder,” Aaron said.
His mind was spinning. He owned forty percent of the firm’s shares and another twenty percent in Suzanne’s name, which she didn’t even know about. Each of these assholes owned ten percent. To get to a majority, they would all—including Suzanne—have had to approve the sale.
“Surely you haven’t forgotten about the revised shareholder agreement you had us sign when the firm ownership statutes changed?” Jim said. “When you granted those shares to Suzanne?”
“Do the math. All four of us, plus Suzanne’s twenty percent, equals sixty percent. Sherman Wright is now the majority shareholder of AndersLaw.” Dave took a sip of sangria.
Aaron’s vision was blurring. Suzanne agreed to sell?
“Suzanne would not have—” he stammered.
“Oh, wouldn’t she?” Eric flipped to the back page. “Miss Suzanne’s signature is right here.”
“You can’t do this!” Aaron said. “I’ll sue every single one of you into the ground.”
“No, Aaron, you won’t. You don’t have a case. We operated strictly within the terms of the partner contract you drafted. And, besides, it sounds like you’re going to be busy with your criminal defense,” Chuck said.
“What are you talking about? There is no criminal matter!” Aaron sputtered. “Kaitlyn’s death was an accident.”
“Save it for the jury. A little bird at the County Attorney’s Office says a reliable witness turned up with evidence implicating you in Kaitlyn’s death,” Dave said. “Good thing we sold when we did. We’ll get our cash out while the firm still has value.”
Aaron couldn’t think. His heart was thudding against his ribs and sweat was rolling into his eyes. He had to get out of here. Now.
“I’ll read this over and get back to you, but everything I said stands. Don’t even darken the door of AndersLaw unless you want to be arrested for trespassing.”
He turned and walked as quickly as he could through Jim’s fucking boring white on white house, out the front door, and down the driveway. Saminski was leaning on the car hood, scrolling on his phone.
“Take me to the condo,” Aaron said as he planted his hands against the car. God, he felt so woozy.
“Whoa, Mr. Anders, are you okay?” Dov asked.
“Just get me downtown,” Aaron said, faintly.
Dov opened the back door and Aaron collapsed into the back seat.
“I can have you at ER in just about five minutes,” Dov said. “Or the casita. Either one’s closer.”
“No! Just take me to the fucking Lion’s Den.” Aaron gasped as he clutched his chest. “I don’t need to go to ER and I don’t want to be anywhere near my fucking traitor of a wife. Because if I see her right now, I’m gonna fucking kill that bitch with my bare hands. It should have been her in that wreck! F U C K!”
He saw the glare Dov gave him before he slammed the door, hard enough to rock the car. It was all the confirmation Aaron needed.
Screw him, too.
Dov pulled out of the driveway and headed downtown. Twenty minutes later, they entered the underground garage at Portland Place. Dov jumped out of the car and opened the back passenger door. Aaron was panting, soaked in sweat, and his vision was blurred.
“I really think you need to be at ER.” Dov stood back as Aaron swung his feet out the car door. Dov extended his hand to help Aaron out of the car.
“I don’t need your opinion, I just need my meds,” Aaron snapped.
“Okay,” Dov said. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Just open the fucking door,” Aaron snarled. “I’ll be fine.”
Dov entered the code, pushing the door open as he stood aside for Aaron to enter. Dov walked to the elevator and pushed the button.
“I’ll just ride up with you,” Dov said.
Aaron didn’t answer. He was actually grateful, because he wasn’t sure he would make it under his own steam. When they arrived at the top floor, Dov walked ahead and entered the key code. He swung the door open for Aaron, who brushed past him into the condo. For a moment, Aaron sagged against the wall.
“What can I get you?” Dov asked.
“Just get the nitro pills and a bottle of water from the fridge. And then get the hell out,” Aaron said.
Aaron staggered to the sofa and fell heavily into the plush velvet cushions. Dov placed the pills and water bottle on the coffee table, standing by expectantly.
“Are you sure—”
“I said leave, you fucking traitor. You were in on that scheme tonight, weren’t you, Saminski? You knew all about Frost’s plan, didn’t you? And the way you’ve been cozying up to Suzanne, way above and beyond the call of duty. You think I don’t see who you are?” Aaron shouted. “Fuck off, Saminski. Get outta my face. You’re fucking fired.”
His legs were going numb.
As he chewed a couple of nitroglycerin tablets, he watched Dov silently turn and walk away, gently pulling the door closed on his way out.
Aaron screamed at the closed door, but his anger turned to agony as his heart convulsed in his chest.
He thought about calling Suzanne, but what was there left to say? She was a backstabbing, money grubbing bitch. Just like all the rest of them.
There was only one good, pure, beautiful thing left in Aaron’s life, now. His thoughts turned to his new grandchild. He remembered the warm, milky smell of his own children, those squalling bundles of silky skin and little clenched fists. He smiled. His grandbaby was going to be the most perfect, beautiful, genius little girl ever. Even if Allison wouldn’t tell him, Aaron knew it was a girl. She would love her Grandpapa so much she would never turn on him. Not like the rest of those traitors.
Another bolt of pain shot through his chest and down his arm, pulling a loud groan out of Aaron’s throat.
Suzanne.
He should call her right now, let her know what she was doing to him. His phone slid out of his tingling fingers onto the floor.
How would she ever manage without him at the helm? How would any of them? They wouldn’t. They’d all—every last one of them: his wife, his kids, his law partners, the lot—see how much he’d done for them. Every damn day of his life. They’d be fucking sorry.
He moaned as Death clutched his heart, wringing out his life force in agonizing spasms.
God, he was so tired. Too tired to fight anymore.
The evening light settled into a pink haze over the Japanese Gardens below as Aaron sighed out his final breath.
58
Exit Ramp Ahead
Monday, April 18
Suzanne hit redial for the third time. “Dammit, Aaron, pick up!” she said to the empty kitchen.
Soon after their last hearing, Judge Bailey issued a favorable ruling on her estate plan and life insurance policies—they were all hers, now—so the beneficiary clauses were going to be changed with or without her spouse’s signature on the little black line. She’d already met with her estate planning attorney to update her will, and as soon as the divorce trial was over in a couple of weeks, she was leaving on an extended vacation with Dov. But she had to manage this bit of unfinished business.
Based on the stern warning Judge Bailey had given him, she figured Aaron would sign off on the policies without Camelia having to take the forms to the judge. Except he wouldn’t answer his damn phone. Aaron of all people. The man who demanded that everyone answer his calls at all hours. It went to voicemail again.
“Aaron, I’m not kidding. Call me as soon as you get this.” She hung up and called Dov.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Dov answered.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “Good morning yourself. Hey, have you heard from Aaron this morning?”
Dov hesitated. “No, but I can check his calendar,” he said.
“Are you at the office? I thought you were fired?” Suzanne said.
“Yeah, I’m cleaning out my desk, archiving my computer files, that kind of thing. I’ll have the formal chat when he gets in, but I want to be ready to leave when it’s over,” Dov said. “Clean exit.”
“But Dov, you said he threw you out of the condo and fired you at the top of his lungs on Friday,” Suzanne said. “What else does he need to say?”
“He was just having a mood,” Dov said. “That’s gotta be like the fifth time he’s fired me. And I’m under contract, remember? I can’t walk off the job until it’s in writing, signed off by HR. Anyway, there’s a meeting on his calendar, but let me check with his assistant.”
Soft jazz music played as Suzanne sat on hold. A few seconds later, Dov was back.
“Darla says she hasn’t talked to him, but he had a settlement meeting first thing this morning, and she doesn’t expect him in the office until later this afternoon.” Dov said. “Anything I can do?”
“No, I just need his signature on my life insurance forms but he hasn’t answered my calls all weekend,” Suzanne said.
