Keep Quiet(45)

“Sure.” Jake flipped to the page, which was headed Deferred Income/Future Benefits. He skimmed the question. List all the sources, amounts and dates of all anticipated receipts from deferred income payments, stock, options, uncompleted contracts and other future benefits … “Boy, they aren’t kidding.”

“No, they’re not. And go down to item number 22, which is source of income.”

Jake read down to the paragraph. List sources and amounts of all income received during the calendar year preceding your nomination and for the current calendar year, including all salaries, fees, dividends, interest, gifts, rents, royalties, licensee’s fees … “I get the idea.”

“It’s a nightmare.”

Jake didn’t bother to correct her. He knew exactly what a nightmare was and he was living it. “I can answer this for you. I’ll do it tomorrow at the office.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Pam picked up another set of papers and handed them over the desk. “They also need a complete and detailed statement of our net worth, which goes back before the nomination, and the worst part is, since there’s always a delay between the nomination and the hearing, sometimes three and four years, we have to keep updating the information, on a quarterly basis.” Pam threw up her hands. “It’s like doing your taxes every quarter for the next five years!”

Jake smiled. He wished he were living in Before, too, back when the only thing he had to worry about was paperwork. “Don’t worry, we’ll get through it.”

“I wonder if I’ll even make it.” Pam flopped back in her cushy chair. “They said one of the reasons my name came to the front was because I’m a registered Independent. I’m the most apolitical, but that’s not always the best thing.”

“Sure it is. You’re about the job, not about the politics.”

“Ha! Well, of course, it being the federal government, there is a document that actually gives you the precise qualifications for the job.” Pam searched around her desk, located some papers, and held them up. “Here we have a form. Presto!” She read aloud. “I’m paraphrasing, but the first requirement is, I have to be a citizen.”

“Check.”

“I have to have a reputation for integrity and good character.”

“Check,” Jake said, but that would disqualify her if anything about the accident came to light.

“I have to be fair and unbiased.”

“You are.”

“I have to be of sound mental and physical health.”

Jake smiled. “Mental health? You can’t win them all.”

“Very funny.” Pam grinned and returned to her document. “I have to be committed to equal justice under the law, have an outstanding legal ability, and competence and a willingness to manage trial proceedings.”

“You have all that. You’ll get it.”

“But the fact that I’m not political means that nobody really backs me from either party.”

“Or conversely, it means that neither party opposes you and your nomination sails through.”

“Thanks. I try to do the right thing, every case. I try to follow the law.” Pam raised her hand like the Statue of Liberty. “I stand for the law!”

“That’s my girl!” Jake masked his emotions, feeling like a total fraud.

“I’m also supposed to think about why I really want to be a federal judge.” Pam paused. “Let me remember how Rizzo put it. He told me I’m supposed to engage in ‘critical self-reflection.’ I told him don’t worry about that, I’m a woman. I wake up in critical self-reflection.”

Jake smiled. “You want it, right?”

“More than anything.”

Jake got up, walked around the desk, and gave her a big hug. “Then you shall have it, my love.”





Chapter Twenty-one


Jake was at work the next morning by six o’clock, watching the parking lot through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office and wondering if Lewis Deaner was going to pull up. Jake would be the first to see Deaner enter the building, whether or not Deaner parked in the spaces designated for Gardenia visitors. His office was three floors up, on the corner of the rectangular building, the corporate equivalent of the castle built on high ground. But it was still dark outside, and the lot was almost empty, so all Jake could see in the window was his own troubled reflection.

Still he kept an eye out, ignoring the flop sweat under his shirt. His tie felt like a noose. He’d barely slept last night, but he’d come to the office on time, always the first one in. He’d kept his door closed to signal no interruptions, but he still hadn’t gotten anything done. He couldn’t focus. He’d tried to do the things he had to do—check his email, then the markets in Japan, London, and New York—but all the while, in the back of his mind, he’d been worried about Lewis Deaner.

Jake caught sight of the treeline beyond the parking lot, and the jagged branches looked like so many hunting knives, cutting into the sky. He wondered for the umpteenth time if Deaner lived in the apartment building near Pike Road or worked in one of the businesses in the Concordia Corporate Center—or if he really knew anything about the accident, at all. Last night, Jake had searched online for information about Deaner or the accident, but found nothing new. He’d told Ryan not to confide in Dr. Dave, and Ryan had agreed, still shaken from driving down Pike Road again. When Jake had left him, Ryan was beginning to tackle his homework, his American Pageant textbook open next to his laptop. He was studying the American Dream, and Jake ignored the irony.