Sanjay shook his head, saying nothing. Jim rubbed his forehead.
Mary asked, “Other documents about the software or anything like that?”
“Emails, but we don’t work that way.”
“So most of the documents were on the lawsuit?”
“Yes.”
“What were they, emails or letters, things like that, relating to the lawsuit?” Mary glanced at Anne, whose green eyes flashed with anger.
“Yes.” Paul looked up, pained.
“How did you give him these documents? You didn’t email them, did you?”
“No, nothing by email. He didn’t want anything traced.”
“You didn’t meet Machiavelli directly, did you?”
“No. He sent somebody to meet me, and I gave them to her.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. She was short. Cute. Hot. I think she was, like, his assistant or something.”
“Do you know her name?”
“No, we never even talked.”
“But she met you in person?”
“Yes.”
“How often did you meet her in the past six-month period?”
Paul paused, in thought. “Probably ten times.”
“Where did you meet?”
“Always in the same place, Rittenhouse Square at lunchtime. On a bench. She would be eating her lunch, and I would sit down and put the documents inside a newspaper, then get up and go.” Paul rolled his eyes. “It was like I was CIA or something, like a spy.”
Mary thought it sounded exactly like Machiavelli’s modus operandi. He probably had a network of these kids, doing his bidding in all sorts of enterprises, with him pulling the strings on an interconnected web of favors, like a second-rate Godfather. She felt appalled by the theft of business information, but she really wanted to focus on John’s murder. “Did you ever go to Machiavelli’s office and meet anybody else who worked for him?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been to his office?”
“No.”
“So the only contact you had lately with Machiavelli was when he made you this offer?”
“Yes.”
“So the only other contact you ever had with Machiavelli is through this woman?”
“Yes.”
Mary thought it over, because it wasn’t helping on the murder case. “Did she ever come with anybody in his organization, whom you think he used for security?”
“No, she always came alone.”
“How did you arrange the drop-offs?”
“She texted on a burner phone. It was never the same number.”
“Okay, so, Paul.” Mary leaned back, linking her fingers together. “I’m not well-versed in this area of the law, but I know enough to say that what you did is unlawful. It’s industrial espionage and theft of trade secrets. You probably know that, too, don’t you?”
“I had to do it,” Paul said, stricken. “I owed him, and he said I owed him. He said I had to pay him back for the tuition he paid, plus interest. I don’t have that kind of money, I don’t have any money.”
“You didn’t sign a contract to that effect, did you?”
“No.”
“Then he lied. If he offered you tuition money, he’s legally considered a volunteer, and you owe him nothing. Did you keep any notes of what you told him?”
“No.”
“So you’re going to need a lawyer.”
“Where am I gonna get a lawyer?” Paul practically wailed. “I don’t have the money for that. Can you be my lawyer?”
“No, I can’t be your lawyer and neither can any of us, because we represent London Technologies.”
“Um, can I just ask you a question?” Paul asked, with a new fear in his eyes. “Are you going to tell my mother?”
Mary blinked, not completely surprised. Italian-American mothers and sons were connected not by an umbilical cord, but a bungee cord.
“Dude,” Sanjay chuckled, dryly. “I think Mommy’s going to find out. If we sue you or prosecute you.”
“Oh no.” Paul’s lips parted, stricken. “She doesn’t know anything about Machiavelli.”
Mary didn’t get it. “But she has to know that he pays your college tuition.”
“No, she doesn’t, she would kill me if she thought I took money from Machiavelli.” Paul’s words sped up as he got more upset, and Mary touched his hand, not wanting him to panic and shut up.
“But who does she think pays your college tuition? She had to see the checks, didn’t she? Or some kind of receipt?”
“Yes, she saw a check once, but they say Dilworth, so I lied to her. I told her that Dilworth was an IT company in Center City, like, IT consultants? I told her I work for them part-time during school. I said they have a tuition payment program, and she believed it. She would never let me take the money if she knew it came from him.”
“Why?”
“She hates his guts. My whole family does. All her friends hate him, too.”
“They live right next door—”
“That’s why. Machiavelli’s mom still lives in their house and she didn’t want to move, so Machiavelli wanted to make it bigger. He tried to buy my mom’s house, but she said no.”
Mary knew it rang true. Many wealthier South Philly residents, including the Philly Mob, would buy a few rowhouses, then knock out the interior walls to make one big house, though the fa?ade remained unchanged. Partly it was to keep a low profile, but not even a mobster could convince his mother to move. Mary had tried to get her own parents to move to Center City or the suburbs, which they viewed as moving to Pluto.
“Her house is only worth about $75,000, and he offered her $200,000, then he raised it to half a million, then a million dollars. In cash.” Paul’s eyes flared in giddy wonder. “But she still wouldn’t take it. She won’t move. My dad passed in that house, and she thinks his spirit lives there, like, his ghost. She’s not going anywhere for any amount of money.”
“Really.” Mary could see that Sanjay’s mouth had dropped open, but she was getting a hunch. “I’m going to bet that what Machiavelli did next was threaten her.”
“Yes.” Paul’s expression darkened, his face falling. “She started getting phone calls from some guy, saying ‘she better move if she knew what was good for her.’”
“Oh no.” Mary shuddered. “So what happened?”
“My brother Joey moved back home in case anything happened, and, like, a week later when my mom was out, some guy came over the house, beat Joey up, and put him in the hospital.”
“Ugh.” Mary recoiled, but it could have been exactly what she was looking for. She felt her heart beat quicker. “Do you know who the guy was?”
“No, I wasn’t there.”
“Didn’t you ever hear his name?”
“They called him Stretch. I don’t know his real name or his last name.”
“Why do they call him Stretch, is he tall?” Mary asked, though she should have known better than to make sense of South Philly nicknames.
“I don’t know. I never saw the guy. I was young when it happened.”
“Did your mom or Joey call the cops?”
“No, we don’t snitch.”
Mary let it go. “So then what happened?”
“After Joey got out of the hospital, he called Machiavelli at his office and told him that Stretch could beat him up every night, but it wouldn’t make any difference, our mom would never sell. So he bought the houses on the other side of his mom’s house. My mom’s the only holdout on our side of the street, I think.” Paul’s forehead buckled. “I felt bad taking his money for tuition after what he did to Joey, but it was the only way I could go to college. I figured what my mom didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Do you think Joey would remember Stretch? Can we call him?”
“No, Joey’s in Afghanistan. Third tour.”
“What about your mom? Think she knows anything about Stretch, like his real name?”
“Don’t know.” Paul frowned, his eyebrows sloping unhappily down. “Are you really gonna tell her about me?”
“No, you are.”