Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(59)

“Looks like you’re in a hurry,” he said with a friendly smile.

“I am. Can you take me to Fifteenth and Locust, then I’m going to run inside and ask you to wait?”

“Sure, no problem.” The cabbie hit the gas, and Judy faced the window of the cab as they took off. The traffic wasn’t bad, and the city whizzed past her, but she didn’t see anything. She was worried sick about Aunt Barb. They reached the office quickly, and Judy flew out the cab door, into the mirrored building, up the shiny elevator, and finally into the old-school reception room of Eastwood & Respondi, where her classmate worked. He was one of the smartest kids on Law Review with her, but she hadn’t seen him in ages. She hurried to the front desk with the duffel bag, where a dark-haired receptionist smiled up at her.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“I’m Judy Carrier, here to see John Foxman, he’s expecting me.”

“Please have a seat,” the receptionist said, picking up the receiver of the desk phone.

“But I’m in a hurry—”

“Judy?” said a voice that Judy recognized, and she looked over. It sounded like John, but it didn’t look like John. She remembered him as super tall and super skinny, with thick glasses and an insanely studious manner, but he had changed, to say the least.

“John?” Judy asked, trying to keep the shock from her voice, and if John noticed that she was drooling, he didn’t let it show. Either he had been working out or he was on steroids, but he looked tall and cut, filling out a sharply tailored dark suit with style. His formerly frizzy red hair had been tamed into short layers, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement, which she guessed came with his new contact lenses.

“Judy, if you’re in a hurry, come with me. We’ll get this done quickly.” John crossed the carpet to meet her and reached for the duffel. “Let me take the bag.”

“Thanks.” Judy handed it over and fell into step beside him, though his strides were big as they hustled down the hall. “Nice of you to see me on such short notice.”

“I wanted to. You look great.”

“You, too.”

“I remember the way you used to dress.” John smiled. “So … fun.”

“I still dress fun, if not funny. I had a dep.”

“You don’t go to the reunions.”

“No.”

“You should. You’re missed.”

“Aw, thanks,” Judy said, surprised at his warmth. They had been fellow Comment Editors, working together plenty of late nights, but hadn’t dated. She couldn’t even remember if he had a girlfriend in law school, just that he was one of the scruffy guys in hoodies that hung out in the Law Review office. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.”

Well. “We grew up.”

“It can’t be avoided, can it?” John grinned crookedly, gesturing her into his office with a long arm.

“Thanks.” Judy glanced around. His office was small but immaculate, with files organized on the credenza, labeled looseleaf binders on the shelves, and diplomas and certificates of admission on the walls. It was the décor of the geeky boy she remembered, but he had grown into a very different sort of man.

“If you could just sign these forms, I’ll put this money in the bank next door, right away.” John set the duffel down and reached for some blank forms on his desk, which had a polished maplewood top that was clear except for a laptop.

“It’s not a PennBank, is it? I’m suing them.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m glad to see you’re still the firebrand I remember.” John slid the forms to Judy, then handed her a black enamel pen from his breast pocket. “Here, use my show-off pen. My father gave it to me when I passed the bar, back when pens still mattered.”

“I will, thanks.” Judy accepted the pen, and scribbled her name on the first form, noticing that John wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and there was no masonry dust under his fingernail. Then she realized with a start that she hadn’t thought of Frank today until this very moment, and not in a good way.

“You’re signing a form that will permit me to set up an IOLTA account.”

“What does that mean anyway?” Judy signed the second form.

“An Interest Only Lawyers’ Trust Account. It’s a clunky acronym for holding account, that’s all. Any fund generates interest, and the question is where the interest goes and who owns it.”

“Why didn’t they just say that?”

“Because they’re politicians.”

“Ha.” Judy finished signing the forms and handed him back the pen, which he returned to his breast pocket.

“Under the statute, the interest flows into a general fund used to improve access to the civil legal system.”

“That’s nice.”

“Isn’t it? We need the money in a safe place while we set up the estate, which will take some time to do. If we could open an estate in a day, then we wouldn’t need the IOLTA account.”

“I understand.” Judy liked that John said we, as if her problem was his problem, too.

“If the money is put in an IOLTA account, there is no need to identify the owner to the bank. That works well in this situation, since we don’t know who the rightful owner is.”