“But he’s your only son.”
“It’s the right thing to do, and at the end of my life, I have to answer to my God.” Flavia patted Mary’s hand, and just then, the front door opened, letting a shaft of light into the large, dark room. Machiavelli appeared in the threshold, his mouth dropping open when he saw his mother sitting at the table with Mary.
“Hi, honey,” Flavia called out, motioning him over. “Come sit with us.”
“Us?” Machiavelli strode toward them, composing himself. His mouth reverted to its typical smirk, and he buttoned his suitjacket as he swaggered over. “Hello, Mary, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I figured.” Mary didn’t know if she had the upper hand but it felt like it, from his reaction.
“Anyway it’s a good thing you’re here.” Machiavelli reached the table. “I just got off the phone with the Pennsylvania Human Relations Commission. We’re rejecting your settlement offer. My clients don’t want to work for your firm.”
“Oh that’s too bad.” Mary felt her theory confirmed, as if it needed it.
“So we’ll see you in court.” Machiavelli walked to his mother, put a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Hi, Ma. You didn’t tell me Mary was here.”
“No, I wanted to surprise you.” Flavia pointed to the chair catty-corner to her. “Sit down, please.”
“Am I in trouble?” Machiavelli pulled out a chair, smirking.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Mary sat directly across from Machiavelli, and Flavia linked her hands in front of her, dead calm. “Nicky, we have something very serious to talk about. I want you to tell me the truth, no matter what. And you know I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Okay.” Machiavelli folded his arms, still smirking.
“And don’t make that face. This is very serious.”
“Okay.” Machiavelli frowned, probably embarrassed. Mary would’ve been too, but it was too serious to make jokes.
“Mary says her friend John got murdered. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“No,” Machiavelli answered flatly.
Flavia paused, her lips pursed. “Nicky, I want you to look me in the eye. I want you tell me the truth. Because you know I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.” Machiavelli blinked, and Mary couldn’t tell if he was lying, but she knew he had to be.
Flavia leaned closer to him. “Do you swear to God?”
“Yes.” Machiavelli kept a completely straight face. “I had nothing to do with John’s murder.”
“Did Stretch? Did you send Stretch to kill John?”
“No,” Machiavelli answered, again flatly.
“Do you swear to me, Nicky? On my eyes?”
“Yes.”
“Because if you’re lying to me, you’ll burn in hell. I will too. That’s a mortal sin.”
“Ma, I would never murder anybody.”
“Stretch would.”
“Maybe, but I didn’t ask him to murder anybody. I didn’t ask him to murder John.” Machiavelli shot Mary a look. “Is that what this is about? You came here asking my mother this question? Making these accusations? It’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Mary shot back. “You sent Stretch to Conchetta’s because she wouldn’t sell her house to you.”
Flavia’s hooded eyes stayed glued to her son. “Is that right, Nicky?”
Machiavelli frowned. “Okay, that I did, but I offered her a million bucks first. Why didn’t they take it? It’s not worth a tenth of that.”
Flavia gasped. “Nicky, that’s terrible! That’s a terrible thing to do! I’m so ashamed of you. Joey is in the Army. He’s serving our country.”
“I wanted the house.”
“But I didn’t want the house.” Flavia gestured at the big vast, cavernous room, as she had before. “I don’t want any of this. I don’t want you to beat up anybody for it. A man in uniform!”
“I wanted it for you.”
“I told you, I don’t want any of this, I don’t need any of this.”
“I let it go, Ma. They live there, don’t they? It’s all good.” Machiavelli turned to Mary. “What’s one have to do with the other, anyway? I had nothing to do with John’s murder. You can’t think I did.”
“I sure can,” Mary shot back, angering. “You might be able to convince your mother, but you can’t convince me.”
Machiavelli looked at her like she was crazy. “Why would I kill John?”
“You sent Stretch to do it.”
“Why would I do that? It’s still murder if I solicited it, and I never would. Murder?” Machiavelli’s brown eyes flared. “Mary, I draw the line. I’ve done a lot of things, but murder, no. Never.”
“Oh really?” Mary couldn’t believe his nerve. It was time to bust him. “Let’s go back a few days. You manufactured that reverse-discrimination lawsuit against us. Those three plaintiffs have worked for your businesses. You paid their college tuition and put them up to the Complaint against us.”
Machiavelli’s eyelids fluttered. “That’s not true.”
Flavia shook her head. “Nicky, you’re lying. I can tell. You just lied to her. Did you do what she said or not?”
“Yes, he did,” Mary interjected.
Flavia held up a hand to Mary. “I’m talking to my son.” She returned to Nicky, flushing behind her papery skin. “You said you would tell me the truth and you just lied. I can tell when you’re lying and when you tell the truth. If you lie, Nicky, I swear, you will pay for the rest of your life—”
“Ma, don’t get upset, your blood pressure.” Machiavelli put his hand on hers, frowning with genuine concern.
“You want to give me a heart attack? Then keep lying. It’ll be on you.” Flavia went red in the face, the veins in her stringy neck bulging. She turned to Mary. “Ask him the question again.”
Mary faced Machiavelli. “You manufactured the reverse-discrimination case against us, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Those three plaintiffs worked for you in your businesses, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Machiavelli said, pursing his lips.
“You put them through college and then called in the favor.”
“Law school. I put them through law school.”
“I stand corrected. Otherwise, that’s a yes?”
“Yes,” Machiavelli answered, apparently unremorseful.
“You’re vaguely aware there’s a code of ethics for attorneys, aren’t you? You can’t manufacture litigation. It’s abuse of process. You’re not allowed to recruit plaintiffs, they’re supposed to come to you.”
“Oh really, Pollyanna?” Machiavelli rolled his eyes. “Tell that to the class-action bar.”
Mary ignored it. “You filed a bogus lawsuit, completely fraudulent. You can get disbarred for that.”
“Suspended, at most.” Machiavelli shrugged.
“I would see to it that you got disbarred, if I didn’t have bigger fish to fry. You did it because you wanted to neutralize John, because you thought he was the brains behind the antitrust litigation we brought on behalf of London Technologies against Home Hacks and EXMS, both of which you own, one way or another.”
“Yes,” Machiavelli admitted, his brows lifting in surprise. “How did you figure that out?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mary inhaled deeply, feeling powerful and validated, for once in her life. “And you placed Paul Patrioca at London Technologies as a spy and made him steal their software code and documents relating to the antirust litigation.”
Machiavelli scowled. “How did you find that out?”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Home Hacks and EXMS are guilty of everything that London Technologies alleged, aren’t they? They’re gouging their customers to maintain monopoly power?”
“Yes.” Machiavelli looked at her coldly. “You done yet?”
“No.” Mary realized something. “I thought you sent those plaintiffs to us to set us up for litigation, but really you sent them to us as spies. When we didn’t hire them, you improvised.
Machiavelli smirked. “You handed me an ace and I know how to play it.”
Mary saw Flavia, who looked appalled, but she didn’t stop now. “You sent that female freelancer Amanda Sussman after us, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you even sent protesters to John’s memorial service, didn’t you?”