Sparring Partners(23)
“Don’t mention it.”
“Always the smart-ass, right?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I get that from you. Mom has always said that I’m a natural smart-ass, just like my father.”
“That’s the nicest thing she’s said about me in years.”
“See.” And she finally smiled. The expensive teeth were dazzling.
Neither spoke for a long time. There was so much to say, but then they had already covered a lot of ground.
She took her purse and said, “I need to be going. I told Mom I was running some errands. She wants us to stay close.”
“And she has no idea we’re meeting?”
“No, no way. She would be furious if she knew. We’ve been lectured by her, and by Hermie too, that we are to report any effort by you to contact us.”
“I’m not surprised.” Mack had worried that the meeting was a ruse by the family to confirm the rumors that he was indeed back in the area. Now that he had been spotted, they could make their next move, whatever it might be. But those concerns were over. His beautiful daughter was blunt and honest, and could be trusted.
He said, “I’ll be thinking of you and Helen, and Lisa too. The next few weeks will be difficult.”
“Thanks, I guess. I gotta tell you, Mack, I’m tired of crying. I love my mother and I’ll die when she dies, but at some point I’ll wake up and get on with life. And it won’t be around here.”
“Got someplace in mind?”
She shook her head as if she’d had enough. “Not really. Look, let’s talk about it next time.”
“So we can meet again?”
“Sure.” She stood and walked to the door, where she stopped and looked at him. “Maybe next time, Mack, I’ll be ready for a hug.”
“I love you, Margot.”
Without a reply, she opened the door and left.
(23)
Of the four Special Agents assigned to the Oxford office of the FBI, the one with the least seniority was a rookie named Nick Lenzini. He was a cocky sort from Long Island, and when he left training at Quantico the last place he wanted to go was Mississippi. But, as he knew well, that was the way the Bureau operated. He would do his five years and transfer to a bigger assignment as soon as possible. The file landed on his desk when the other three agents quickly passed on it. They were too busy fighting terror, hate groups, cybercrime, and drug cartels. Bankruptcy fraud was not a priority.
Lenzini reviewed the Stafford bankruptcy case, and he slipped into Clanton and got a copy of the divorce file in the chancery clerk’s office. At the city library, he went through the archives of The Ford County Times and found three articles about Stafford’s disappearance. He was careful, dressed casually, and told no one he was with the FBI. He assumed, correctly, that any word of his presence would stir up the rumors and send the wrong signal to Mack, wherever he happened to be hiding.
Lenzini was delighted when his boss okayed a trip to New York. He could see his family, but, more important, he could rub elbows with veteran agents from the Manhattan office.
Two of them accompanied him as they entered a tall building in the financial district in downtown Manhattan. They rode an elevator to the seventy-first floor and stepped into the gilded world of Durban & Lang, at that moment the third-largest law firm in the entire world. A paralegal was waiting for them in the plush reception suite, and they followed him to a conference room with a stunning view of New York Harbor. Marty Rosenberg greeted them warmly and a secretary offered them coffee.
When they were seated, Marty took charge and was all charm. He began with “Sorry to be a pain about this, fellas, but I have my orders from my client, Littleman AG. A fine company with nothing to hide, you know. This is a simple matter involving the settlement of some rather dubious product liability cases from years back. I’ve reviewed the subpoena and all the paperwork is right here.”
He waved to a pile in the center of the table.
“We’ve made copies for you. I’m sure you have questions.”
Lenzini cleared his throat and said, “Thank you, Mr. Rosenberg. Perhaps you could hit the high points before we plow through the paperwork.”
“Certainly. We paid one hundred thousand dollars per claim, four of them, and we threw in another hundred thousand for litigation expenses. Total of half a mil. I handled it directly with Mr. Stafford and it was quite easy. He seemed eager to get the money.”
“And you wired it to him?”
“Yes, to a bank in Memphis. I sent down these settlement agreements and he got them signed, ostensibly by his four clients. Signatures are right there on the agreements, notarized and all, and he sent them back, quite promptly I might add. I reviewed them and released the money. Not a peep about anything until now.”
“And there’s a copy of the wire transfer?”
“Yes. You now have copies of everything in our files, including the initial demand letters sent from Mr. Stafford way back when. It’s all there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rosenberg. We’ll take these and have a look.”
“My pleasure, gentlemen. Always happy to assist the FBI.”
The coffee arrived and they chatted for a few moments. Marty said, “Off the record, it looks like Mr. Stafford left town in a hurry not long after the settlements, right?”