Marcie leads Susan and me back to the drawing room, and we all sit. Marcie pours more coffee, and then she resumes.
“It was never David’s idea to go into law. He wanted from the outset to run Hanson World Industries. David’s father, however, left that mantle to Edwin. Still, David went to work for the company right out of law school, as you know. And he’s worked hard ever since to break into the operations side. For a long time, he was just beating his head against the wall. Then, about six years ago, things changed. By then David had immersed himself in the cultures of Japan and China. He was making monthly, sometimes weekly, trips to both countries, using his connections to arrange private tours of the countries’ museums and archaeological sites, and to stay in the private homes of some of the most powerful men in both nations. David knew that, sooner or later, HWI would have to break in to Asia in a big way—not just to build manufacturing plants like Apple, but to open the Chinese market to HWI’s products.
“It looked likely that HWI would begin selling some of its personal-care products in China, but Edwin, always a bull in a china shop, pardon the pun, offended the Chinese. So as much as he hated doing it, he had to ask David to smooth things over. David flew to China and used the networks he’d already built there to keep the deal alive. Pretty soon, the company was selling a whole range of products in China.”
“Because of David, basically?”
Marcie nods. “Recently, HWI was on the verge of cementing a joint venture with powerful companies from both China and Japan. It was an unprecedented arrangement for everyone concerned, especially HWI. And David built it all on his relationships in the countries.” She pauses.
“Edwin?”
Marcie nods again. “Was furious. Not just because David was the company’s rising star, but because David was leveraging his Asian influence to pressure Edwin for an executive position on the operations side of the business. Worse yet, David had HWI’s Japanese and Chinese partners pressuring Edwin as well. Edwin finally, grudgingly, agreed, and David was about to be named President of HWI-Asia, making him second-in-command in the company to Edwin, and Edwin’s heir apparent.”
Marcie takes a sip of her coffee.
“And then . . .” Her eyes darken. She puts down her cup and saucer. “And then Jennifer Yamura. David is disgraced and forced to resign as chief legal counsel at HWI. His hopes to take a seat in the company’s operational pantheon are dashed. And Edwin’s as happy as a pig in shit.”
Susan leans forward. “Because?”
“Because Edwin and David hate each other.”
I’m nodding. “It must have galled Edwin to no end to have the Japanese and Chinese business partners breathing down his neck about David.”
“So,” says Susan, “it’s possible that Edwin leaked the story about the house in New York.”
Marcie purses her lips. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
I consider everything Marcie has told us. “How solid is the paper trail backing the fake lease?”
“Solid. And David’s Chinese backers agreed up front to give affidavits, if necessary. Same with the girls, of course.”
I smile. I’m going to make Patti Cassidy sweat for this one. I’ll bring Devlin Walker into it, too.
Abruptly, Marcie stands, making clear that our business is concluded. I infer from this that David won’t be coming home anytime soon, contrary to what she told me over the phone. She escorts us to the front door and opens it. Susan thanks Marcie for meeting with us, and I do, too. Then in the doorway, a thought strikes me. I turn back to face Marcie.
“Did Edwin know about the house on Addison Street before David’s arrest?”
“David told me he didn’t. But Edwin is enormously clever, and he micromanages the company, keeps his hands on everything, his nose in everything. So who can say?” Marcie waits a few seconds. Then she looks me in the eyes and says, “David is not going to be convicted.”
I hesitate. “Well, of course I’ll do everything in my power to—”
“You’re not hearing me. David is not going to be convicted. Period. And you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure of it. Whatever it takes. Do you understand me?”
I hold Marcie’s stare, then nod slightly and turn away. I catch up to Susan at the car. We pull out of the driveway and head back into the city. As we cruise down the Schuylkill, Susan turns to me. “What that hell was all that?”
I exhale. “That was a wife doing her best to defend her husband.”
After a while, Susan says, “Did you notice that she didn’t ask the question?”
I don’t have to ask which question Susan’s is referring to. She means the question. Whether David is guilty. Whether he killed Jennifer Yamura.
“She didn’t ask,” Susan says, “because David’s told her everything. Marcie knows he’s guilty. And she doesn’t care.”
“Maybe . . . and maybe she does care, or did in the beginning, but now things are working out. Between them, I mean. To hear Marcie describe things, it almost sounds like the murder charges have brought them closer together.”
“Murder as the foundation of a happy marriage . . . ,” Susan intones. “I wonder what Dr. Phil would say about that.”
“Not murder. Forgiveness.”
Or, given that Marcie ordered me to do whatever it will take to get David off the hook, maybe something else. Like two serpents seeing each other for the first time and liking that they are of the same sort.
I wonder what would have happened with my marriage if I had been arrested instead of David. Would Piper have circled the wagons with me to fight off the attack, as Marcie seems to be doing with David? Or would she have led the lynch mob herself?
15
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 27
David and I sit side by side at the defense table. I look to my left, where Devlin Walker huddles with a junior ADA. They are reading the brief that we just handed them. Behind us, a crowd fills the courtroom. Vaughn has alerted the press that something big is about to happen, and the piranhas are present en masse. Among them is Patti Cassidy, whom I have subpoenaed, and who casts me an angry look. In the seats just behind David and me are Marcie Hanson and, to her left, three young Asian women. To Marcie’s right is a stern-looking Chinese gentleman in his fifties, a member of the diplomatic staff of the Chinese consulate. Marcie marched her entourage into the courtroom so they could take their seats fifteen minutes ago, then promptly presented me with a cheat sheet that set forth her witnesses’ names and the lies to which they’re prepared to testify.