Sparring Partners(18)

“Couldn’t be better, Mr. Rosenberg. Thanks for the call.”

“You betcha. I married a girl from Atlanta and we get down there occasionally.”

“Great city,” Walter replied. In many ways, Atlanta was closer to New York than to Clanton.

“Anyway, I got your letter and one of my paralegals found the file.” Walter could visualize the great lawyer with teams of paralegals lined up outside his door. “What can I do for you?” Marty asked.

“Well, it looks like our pal Mr. Stafford negotiated a settlement of some sort, then skipped town. Is it possible for you to confirm that there was indeed a settlement?”

“Oh boy,” he said as he exhaled, as if they were entering a touchy area. “Look, we still represent the Swiss company, Littleman, and yes they gobbled up Tinzo a few years back. At the time there were some of these product claims on Tinzo’s books but nothing in the way of litigation had materialized. The Swiss wanted a clean slate. They don’t like our tort system, can’t blame them for that, and so they told us to get rid of the claims, such as they were. They were dumped on my desk with instructions to make offers. I’m afraid that’s about all I can say. The settlements were confidential, as you might guess, and my client admitted no liability at all.”

“I see. Is it possible to get copies of the settlement agreements?”

“Oh no. The Swiss are as tight-mouthed as anyone. They would never agree to release any of the details. Not sure why, after so long, and it was a drop in the bucket anyway. Littleman did fourteen billion in sales last year so this was chicken feed. But, that’s the way they operate. We’re not talking anything criminal, are we?”

“Certainly not on your part. Your client has done nothing wrong.”

“Of course not. Who do you represent?”

“Mr. Stafford’s ex-wife. They were going through a divorce and, though we certainly don’t know for sure, it appears likely that he hid some money.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Marty said with a laugh, and Walter felt compelled to laugh along too. When the humor passed, Walter pressed with “So, there’s no way to see the settlement agreements?”

“Only with a subpoena, Mr. Sullivan. Only with a subpoena.”

“Got it. We’ll get to work on it. I really appreciate your time, sir.”

“My pleasure. Good day, sir.” And Marty was gone, no doubt engulfed quickly by staff.





(19)


Jake was drafting another simple will, yet another one for an elderly couple with almost nothing to leave behind. They were members of his church and Jake had known the family for years. His secretary buzzed in with “Jake, there’s a young woman on the phone with no name, says it’s urgent.”

His first thought was: Tell her I’m busy. Every small-town lawyer was a target for similar calls, and they were always trouble. However, years earlier, when he was fresh from law school, he had declined such a call and found out later that the woman was hiding from an abusive husband. The guy found her and beat her and went to prison. Jake had felt guilty for a long time.

“Okay,” he said, and picked up the receiver.

A soft voice said, “Mr. Brigance, my name is Margot Stafford. I’m Mack’s oldest daughter.”

“Hello, Margot.” He had never met her, but a few years back he and Carla had watched a junior high girls’ basketball game with some friends whose daughter was on the team. Margot was playing, and playing well, and someone pointed her out as Mack’s daughter. “What can I do for you?”

“Is this conversation private?”

“It is, yes.”

“Good. I’d like to know if you’ve seen Mack.”

Not “my father” but “Mack.”

“Yes, I have.”

“So, he’s really back in the country?”

“He is.”

After a long pause, she said, “Would it be possible for me to meet with him, somewhere in private? My mother has no idea I’m calling you.”

“I’m sure Mack would love to see you, Margot. I think I can arrange a meeting, if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you. Uh, where could we meet?”

Jake racked his brain with this unusual request and could not think of a secret place. “How about my office, here on the square?”

“Don’t know about that. Would anybody see us?”

“No. There’s a back door.” Behind the small kitchen was a rear door that Jake had used many times to avoid troublesome clients. It opened into the alley behind his office, and the alley led to a maze of narrow passages where he sometimes bumped into other lawyers fleeing their work or their ill-tempered secretaries.

He gave instructions to Margot and they agreed on 2:00 p.m. Friday.





(20)


The U.S. Attorney for the Northern District of Mississippi had an entire floor of offices in the federal courthouse in Oxford. His senior prosecutor was Judd Morrissette, the younger brother of Walter Sullivan’s best friend from law school. On Thursday morning, Walter rode to Oxford in his fine Cadillac, driven by Harriet, his secretary and chauffeur. Outside of Clanton, and while on the job, Walter preferred to be driven. He said it gave him more time to work—to read thick documents, to make important calls, to ponder legal strategies—but the truth was that as the miles clicked by and the radio played soft country, Walter was usually napping.