The Deposit Slip

33





The light in his tiny room was unshielded and bright. Its walls a washed-out pink, the room held two cot-sized bunk beds, a sink, and a corner hook for clothing—nothing more. Mercifully, in view of its size, Jared had this hostel room all to himself.

He tried to shape the rock that served as his pillow and then lay back to rest before supper. The flight from Athens to Minneapolis was at seven o’clock tomorrow evening. Jared had moved into Cory’s hostel as soon as she agreed to return with him. It was only forty Euros a night, which suited his thin wallet—but mostly he feared she might change her mind. From Cory’s facial expression when he told her, she understood that as well.

With only one more day to enjoy the city, Cory planned to sightsee tomorrow. They would rendezvous at the hostel around three p.m., pick up their bags, and take the train to the airport together.

Jared thought about following Cory all day to ensure she didn’t just leave. But how could he stop her anyway? Grab her luggage? He’d knocked on her door this evening to tell her he’d reserved the airline tickets, hoping that would cement her commitment to return and testify. Beyond that, it was out of his hands.

Jared reached to his carry-on bag on the floor beside the bed and retrieved the two-page statement Cory signed tonight just before she went to bed. He’d drafted it from Cory’s description. It was short and unembellished, simply listing the important things Cory witnessed that night three years ago. He’d brought his notary stamp for this eventuality and notarized the document. It wasn’t quite kosher, notarizing something in a foreign country, but might pass muster with the judge. Mostly, Jared knew that witness testimony usually stabilized after being committed to writing.

The corner of an envelope protruded from a side pocket of the bag. Jared recognized it as the one he’d found on his pillow back in Ashley. He remembered sliding it into the pocket on the way to the airport.

He assumed it was from his father, a preamble to their talk the afternoon he’d found it. Jared tore off the end and pulled out a single sheet of bond paper.

The familiar sweep of Jessie’s handwriting flowed across the page. The note was short, neither formal nor intimate, a kiss on the cheek from a departing friend.

She was quitting. She would wait until Jared returned from Athens to help shepherd the clerk on the summary judgment motion, but that was all. The note was polite but without sentiment or explanation.

Jared lay back on the hard pillow. What explanation did he need anyway? This shouldn’t be a surprise; even his father warned it was going to happen. He tried to muster self-righteous anger, but couldn’t.

He’d taken her daily optimism and energy for granted ever since he jumped ship from Paisley. Since they both jumped ship, he reminded himself.

He could email her today’s news about Cory, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Maybe he could talk her out of leaving when he returned. But that also seemed unlikely. This wasn’t just about another potential Wheeler case failure. It was about the forces that drove him all the way to Athens to run down a witness, using borrowed client funds.

On the wave of his disappointment about Jessie, he also felt again the lingering guilt about his father. It had haunted Jared since their most recent argument, and despite great effort, he’d been unable to banish the last words his father had spoken that night. All the truisms he had adopted about the man were slipping from his grasp and Jared had begun to wonder why he clung to them so fiercely. In the wake of their disintegration, Jared also wondered, for the first time, how long he could go on punishing the man.

He drew a photocopy of the deposit slip from his bag. He’d brought it to show Cory, if necessary, to convince her to testify. He held it over his head, traced its edges with his eyes. Over the past two months, he’d memorized every contour and detail of the slip. The border near the top center was wider than elsewhere. The lettering was slightly askew, as though the paper had been inserted hastily. The last two digits of the deposit number were faintly smudged. The amount was ten million, three hundred fifteen thousand, four hundred dollars and no cents.

He’d handled this badly with Jessie. Maybe with his father too. He no longer knew if this fight was about the money, Paisley, his father, Erin—or all of them. But he knew he couldn’t leave this fight behind and run away from Ashley again.

He let the sheet flutter to the ground and looked around the room absently. It’s emptiness felt . . . right.