Gray Mountain: A Novel(114)

A cheese platter arrived but they ignored it. Both parents agreed that she should not touch the documents. Let Jeff run the risks if he so chose, but she should leave them alone. Jarrett London and his band of litigators had the brains and money to handle the dirty work, and if the documents were as valuable as they believed, they would figure out a way to nail Krull Mining.

Can you get the FBI to back off? Samantha asked her mother. Karen said she would give it her immediate attention, but cautioned that she had little influence with those guys.

The hell you don’t, Marshall almost mumbled. He had sat in prison for three years and schemed of ways to retaliate against his ex-wife and her colleagues. But, with time, he accepted the reality that his problems had been caused by his own greed.

Have you thought about simply leaving? her mother asked. Pack up and get out? Call it an adventure and hustle back to the city? You gave it your best shot and now you’ve got the FBI breathing down your neck. What are you doing there?

Marshall seemed sympathetic to this line of questioning. He’d served time with some white-collar guys who, technically, had broken no laws. If the Feds want to get you, they’ll figure out a way. Conspiracy was one of their favorites.

The more Samantha talked, the more she wanted to talk. She could not remember the last time she’d had the undivided attention of both parents. In fact, she was not sure it had ever happened. Perhaps as a toddler, but then who could remember? And, listening to her worries and troubles, both parents seemed to forget their own issues and rally to support her. The baggage was left behind, for the moment anyway.

Why did she feel compelled to stay “down there”? She answered by telling the story of Buddy Ryzer and his claim for black lung benefits. Her throat tightened when she told them of his suicide, about twenty-four hours ago. She would go to a funeral soon, at a pretty church out in the country, and watch from a distance as poor Mavis and the three kids melted down in emotional anguish. If they’d had a lawyer, things would have been different. Now that they had one, she couldn’t pack up and run when the pressure was on. And there were other clients, other folks with little voices who needed her to at least hang around a few months and pursue some measure of justice.

She told them about the job offer from Andy Grubman. Marshall, predictably, disliked the idea and referred to it as “just a spiffed-up version of the same old corporate law.” Just pushing paper around a desk with one eye on the clock. He warned that the firm would grow and grow and before long it would look and feel just like Scully & Pershing. Karen thought it was far more appealing than staying in Brady, Virginia. Samantha confessed she had mixed feelings about the offer, but, in reality, she expected to say yes at some point.


They had dinner in the hotel restaurant, salads, fish, and wine, even dessert and coffee. Samantha talked so much she was exhausted, but she allowed her fears to be heard by both parents, and the relief was enormous. No clear decisions had been made. Nothing had really been resolved. Their advice was largely predictable, but the act of talking about it all was therapeutic.

She had a room upstairs. Marshall had a car with a driver, and he offered Karen a ride home. When they said good-bye in the hotel lobby, Samantha had tears in her eyes as she watched her parents leave together.





37


Following instructions, she parked on Church Street in downtown Lynchburg, Virginia, and walked two blocks to Main. Midday traffic was heavy in the old section of town. The James River could be seen in the distance. She was certain someone was watching and she hoped it was Jeff. The reservation at the RA Bistro was in her name, again, pursuant to instructions. She asked the hostess for a booth in the rear, and that’s where she sat at exactly noon, Wednesday, January 14. She ordered a soft drink and began fiddling with her cell phone. She also kept an eye on the door as the lunch crowd slowly drifted in. Ten minutes later, Jeff appeared from nowhere and sat across from her. They exchanged hellos. She asked, “Was I followed?”

“That’s always the assumption, right? How was Washington?”

“I had a delightful dinner with my parents, for the first time in modern history. In fact, I cannot remember the last time the three of us ate a meal together. Pretty sad, don’t you think?”

“At least you have both parents. Did you tell your mother about the FBI raid?”

“I did, and I asked her to make a call or two. She will, but she’s not too sure what will happen.”

“How’s Marshall?”

“Swell, thanks, he sends his regards. I have a couple of questions for you. Did you call the office on Monday and warn us about the FBI raid?”

Jeff smiled and looked away, and it was one of those moments when she wanted to scream at him. She knew he would not answer the question. “Okay,” she said. “Have you heard the news about Buddy Ryzer?”

He frowned and said, “Yes. Just awful. Another casualty in the coal wars. Too bad we can’t find a lawyer willing to take on Lonerock Coal and the boys at Casper Slate.”

“Was that a shot at me?”

“No, it was not.”

A friendly waiter stopped by, went through the daily specials, and disappeared.

“Third question,” Samantha said.

“Why am I getting grilled? I had in mind a pleasant little lunch a long way from the boredom of Brady. You seem pretty edgy.”