The Deposit Slip

13





The sun finally crept from behind gray clouds hanging low in the morning sky. Jared watched it indifferently from his desk at his Minneapolis office.

It was Friday, and he had not left the office in daylight since arriving early Wednesday morning. Two days straight and Jessie had stayed with him through it all—typing, faxing, copying, and emailing projects as fast as Jared completed them. In the last hours, they had caught up on several projects, and he should have felt some satisfaction at their progress putting out brushfires and calming anxious clients. He didn’t. Overlaying all of it was anxiety to turn to the Larson case. It grew with each day that Clay failed to return his calls.

Jessie bounced into the room. Her energy was incredible and almost contagious. So far she had spared him questions about the Larson case, which he greatly appreciated. Still, Jared had caught her watching the phone during their brief breaks. He knew she shared his fear about funding the new lawsuit.

“Mr. Neaton, sir,” she said with a mock salute. “Only one more appointment this week. Phil Olney’s coming by late this afternoon to sign the bond papers.”

The phone rang and Jessie picked it up. After a moment she handed it to Jared with a nervous nod.

“Jared?” He heard Clay’s voice.

“Yeah, Clay.” He wanted to say, “Good of you to call,” but held back.

“Sorry I’ve been hard to reach. What can I do for you?”

What can you do? Jared clenched the phone in his fist.

“I called about finalizing our referral arrangement on the Larson case. And to talk about the funding.”

Silence. “Um-hmm. Uh, son, there’s a little problem that’s come up. Maybe you ought to come over so we can talk it through.”

“Clay, I’m buried trying to clear the decks to get started on the Larson case. I think we’ve got to talk now.”

“Um-hmm.” In all the years he’d worked with Clay, master of the courtroom and client, Jared had never heard the defensive tone now coating his voice.

“Uh, Jared,” Clay drawled, “the thing is, I got an email Sunday evening. I didn’t see it until Monday morning. I probably should have called you, but I wasn’t sure . . . how to respond to it. I’ve been chewing on it these past few days.”

“What are you talking about, Clay?”

“It was a notice from Paisley—the managing director, you remember Ed Halifax? The bottom line is they know I referred the Larson case to you.”

Sunday evening? Stanford’s motion showed he knew Jared was involved in the case that early, but how could they know about Clay referring it?

“You see, son, that non-compete I mentioned, the one I signed with Paisley . . . it carries a very heavy penalty. If I get involved in any way on the other side of a case that Paisley is already counsel in—well, they can cancel my pension rights. Thirty years’ worth.”

“Clay, if you knew you couldn’t get involved, why didn’t you tell me from the start, when you told me about the case?”

A long pause followed. The answer tumbled into Jared’s mind.

“You didn’t think they’d find out,” Jared answered himself flatly over the silent line. “You thought you could get me onto the case, keep a big referral fee, and they’d never find out.” And, he didn’t add, you thought I’d keep it quiet because of our relationship—even if Paisley got wind of it.

“Jared, my firm . . . things aren’t as prosperous as you may think. I’ve got nine associates to feed, a building to pay for. Over the last year and a half Paisley has clawed back half the clients I brought over when I left the firm. I . . . I couldn’t pass up a piece of that deposit slip case. It’s a potential tsunami, son, a—”

“A breakthrough case,” Jared finished.

“Listen, Jared. I’ve spent since Monday trying to figure a way around this. I had Phil McKinney, a buddy from law school, looking over the non-compete. But it’s ironclad.”

Jared shook his head. “You should have called, Clay. As soon as you knew.”

“I know, I know. Jared, look. I haven’t got the kind of resources I’d like; all my assets are tied up in the business, and with Paisley watching me, I can’t take any funds out of the business to support you. And my daughter’s in school. But I’ve got ten thousand dollars, my own cash, I can loan you—nothing in writing. You pay me back out of the case. If you want to pass on a referral fee, we’ll figure out some way after the case is over—if it goes all right, that is—at your discretion. I’m sorry, son, but I can’t do more.”

Jared wanted to blow his anger back across the line. Curse his mentor and hang up. He looked up at Jessie, who was still standing in front of his desk. She was frozen, her face blanched white.

“I’ll send Jessie to pick up the check” was all Jared could muster before dropping the phone into its cradle.

Jessie was nearly in tears—fear or rage, Jared was unsure—as he packed her out the door to Clay’s office with a promise to say nothing.

All the plans and arrangements Jared had been listing in his mind between other clients’ work came apart. Ten thousand dollars: it couldn’t sustain him, the office, and the case—not even close. Deposition costs alone could be five or six thousand dollars. Travel. Payroll for Jessie. Plus there was all the personal and firm debt he already had to carry.

The pain and anger knifed through him. Never this, not from Clay.

But there was no looking back.