The Deposit Slip

19





Sitting at a table at Orsi and Greens, Jared felt good about his deposition preparation over the past week. It was Friday morning—almost two weeks since he’d moved into his father’s house. Jared had mastered all of the documents produced to Goering in the spring. There wasn’t much fodder in the boxes for examining the witnesses, but his deeper understanding of the case and bank would give him credibility when he began the depositions on Monday, and reduce their chances of snowing him.

Mrs. Huddleston was feeding him names of other potential witnesses each morning—people she thought might know something about Paul Larson. Each afternoon he would spend hours visiting them. Tractor and feed salesmen, local investment advisers, lawyers in town, anyone who might have a clue whether Paul Larson came into money before he died. Nothing had panned out so far.

Jessie’s car pulled up and parked in front of Orsi’s. Erin waved through the windshield and Jared nodded back. Jessie had brought Erin from the farm to discuss the case. After lunch, Jessie and Erin would retrieve the deposition exhibits from Samuel’s house and get them photocopied at Kinko’s.

This first two weeks in the house had been less tense than Jared expected, mostly because he seldom saw his father. Samuel treated the basement like it was out of bounds and stayed out. His father’s obvious effort to give him privacy in the house only heightened Jared’s guilt at being there at all. But the truth was, he was in no hurry to have more contact with his father anyway.

His phone buzzed and Jared pulled it from his pocket. He grimaced as he answered.

“Yeah, Dad.”

“Jared, you should get home right away.”

“Dad, I’m busy. It won’t be long—”

“Jared, there’s a U-Haul here with several hundred boxes they want to unload. They say they’re from the bank.”

Jared hung up and pushed away from the table. “I’ve got to go,” he told Jessie and Erin as he passed them at the door. “I’ve got to go home.”





Jared’s breath hung in white puffs as he stood on grass crisp with frost, staring into the back of a full-size U-Haul parked in his father’s driveway. The rear door to the truck was up, revealing boxes stacked four high its full length. He ignored his father, standing to the side, wrapped in a hunting jacket and looking at him with concerned eyes.

Jared was buffeted by gusts of rage. A document dump. Three days before the depositions began. He was unsure if he was angrier about the documents or the fact that he hadn’t anticipated this. It was a common practice at Paisley, especially if your opponent was understaffed or underfunded. He was both. He should have expected it.

“Mister,” a voice called. Jared glanced up at the driver, standing next to the cab. “You’ve gotta unload ’em so I can return the truck.”

Jared looked back into the trailer. Should he complain to the judge—ask for sanctions because these documents weren’t produced during the summer when Goering demanded them? Request more time?

He shook his head. None of them were options—not since Clay pulled out his support. Working on financial fumes, Jared didn’t know how he could survive to trial as it was. A delay would be impossible. Jared began to shiver.

“Son?” his father said gently.

A car pulled to the curb in front of the house. Both Jessie and Erin emerged.

“What do you want to do?” his father asked.

Jared shook his head, pulled the nearest box down, and headed toward the front door.

Over his shoulder, he heard his father slide another box free and saw, from the corner of his eye, Erin and Jessie heading to do the same.

All he could feel was frustration teetering on the edge of despair.