35
The forecast for Monday was a high of fifty-five degrees and lots of sunshine. The last of the snow was melting quickly as Samantha walked to work. January 12, but it almost felt like spring. She unlocked the office and went about her early morning routine. The first e-mail was from Izabelle:
Hey Sam: Andy says he’s made contact and you’re almost on board. He made me promise not to discuss the job and the specifics; afraid we’ll compare notes and try to squeeze him for a better package I guess. Can’t say that I’ve really missed him that much. You? I certainly haven’t missed the firm and the city and not sure I’m going back. I told Andy I’d take the job but having second thoughts. I certainly can’t drop everything and be there in a month. You? Nor have I missed the thrill of reading and revising contracts ten hours a day. I need the money and all, but I’m surviving okay and I really enjoy the work. As I’ve told you, we advocate for kids who have been prosecuted as adults and are stuck in adult prisons. Don’t get me started. The work is fascinating as well as depressing, but each day I feel like I’m making a small difference. We walked a kid out of prison last week. His parents were waiting by the gate, and everyone was in tears, including me. FYI—one of the other new associates at Spane & Grubman is that turd Sylvio from tax. Remember him? The worst halitosis in the entire firm. Knock you down from the other side of the conference table. And he insists on talking nose to nose. Spits too. Gross! FYI—according to unnamed sources, one of the blue ribbon clients at Spane & Grubman will be Chuck Randover, that great indictment-dodger who thinks just because he’s paying you $900 an hour he has the right to rub your ass. You know him too well.
But you didn’t hear this from me. FYI—Serious second thoughts. You? Izzie
Samantha chuckled as she read the e-mail, and wasted no time firing one right back:
Iz, I don’t know what Andy is smoking, or telling, but I haven’t said yes. And if he’s playing this fast and loose with the facts it sort of makes me question everything else he says. No, I cannot pack up and leave here in a month, not with a clear conscience. I’m thinking of asking for a start date a few months down the road, say around September 1.
Randover was the only client who ever made me cry. He ridiculed me once in a meeting. I held things together until I could get to the restroom. And that chump Andy sat right there and watched it happen, no thought of protecting his people. No way. He wasn’t about to cross a client. I was wrong, but it was such a simple and harmless mistake.
Any idea what the package will be?
Izabelle replied:
I swore I wouldn’t divulge it. But it’s impressive. Later.
The first surprise of the day came in the mail. Top Market Solutions sent a check for $11,300, made payable to Pamela Booker, with the required releases attached. Samantha made a copy of the check and planned to frame it. Her first lawsuit and her first victory. She proudly showed it to Mattie, who suggested that she drive it over to the lamp factory and surprise her client. An hour later, she entered the town of Brushy and found the near-vacant industrial park on the edge of town. She said hello to Mr. Simmons and again thanked him for rehiring Pamela.
On break, Pamela signed the release and cried over the check. She had never seen so much money and seemed thoroughly overwhelmed. They were sitting in Samantha’s car, in the parking lot, among a sad collection of ancient pickup trucks and dirty little imports. “I’m not sure what to do with this,” she said.
As a multitalented legal aid lawyer, Samantha had a bit of financial advice. “Well, first, don’t tell anyone. Period. Open your mouth and you’ll have all sorts of new friends. How much is your credit card debt?”
“Couple thousand.”
“Pay it off, then cut up your cards. No debt for at least a year. Use cash and write checks, but no credit cards.”
“Are you serious?”
“You need a car, so I’d put two thousand down on one and finance the rest over two years. Pay off your other bills, and put five thousand in a savings account, then forget about it.”
“How much of this do you get?”
“Zero. We don’t take fees, except in rare cases. It’s all yours, Pamela, and you deserve every dime of it. Now hurry and stick it in the bank before those crooks bounce it.”
With her lips twitching and tears dripping off her cheeks, she reached over and hugged her lawyer. “Thank you, Samantha. Thank you, thank you.”
Driving away, she looked in her rearview mirror. Pamela was standing, watching, waving. Samantha wasn’t crying, but she had a tightness in her throat.
The second surprise of the day came during the Monday brown-bag lunch. Just as Barb was telling a story about a man who’d fainted in church yesterday, Mattie’s cell phone vibrated on the table beside her salad. Caller unknown. She said hello, and a strangely familiar, but unidentified, voice said, “The FBI will be there in thirty minutes with a search warrant. Back up your files immediately.”
Her jaw dropped as the color drained from her face. “Who is this?” she asked. The caller was gone.
She calmly repeated the message, and everyone took a deep, fearful breath. Judging from the tactics used when the FBI raided Donovan’s office, it was safe to assume they would walk out with just about everything they could carry. The first frantic order of business would be to find some flash drives and start downloading the important data from their desktops.
“We’re assuming this is also related to Krull Mining,” Annette said, looking suspiciously at Samantha.
Mattie was rubbing her temples, trying to stay calm. “There’s nothing else. The Feds must think we have something because I’m the attorney for Donovan’s estate. Bizarre, absurd, outrageous, I can’t think of enough adjectives. I, we, have nothing they haven’t already seen. There’s nothing new.”
To Samantha, though, the raid was far more ominous. She and Jeff had left Gray Mountain Sunday morning, and she was assuming the backpacks were loaded with documents. Barely twenty-four hours later, the FBI was charging in, snooping on behalf of Krull Mining. It was a fishing expedition, but also an act of effective intimidation. She mentioned nothing, but hurried to her office and began transferring data.
The women whispered as they scurried about. Annette had the bright idea of volunteering Barb to leave with their laptops. They would explain that she was driving over to Wise to have them serviced by a technician. Barb gathered them and was more than happy to leave town. Mattie called Hump, who was one of the better criminal lawyers in town, retained him on the spot, and asked him to saunter over once the raid started. Hump said he wouldn’t miss it for anything. When the flash drives were loaded, Samantha placed them in a large envelope, along with her spy phone, and walked down to the courthouse. On the third floor, the county maintained a long-neglected law library that hadn’t been cleaned in years. She hid the envelope in a pile of dusty ABA Journals from the 1970s and hurried back to the office.
Agents Frohmeyer and Banahan wore dark suits and led the fearless team as it barged into the heavily fortified offices of the Mountain Legal Aid Clinic. Three other agents—all in navy parkas with “FBI” stenciled from shoulder to shoulder in yellow letters as large and as bright as possible—followed their leaders. Mattie met them in the front hallway with “Oh no, not you again.”
Frohmeyer said, “Afraid so. Here’s the search warrant.”
She took it and said, “I don’t have time to read it. Just tell me what it covers.”
“Any and all records relating to the legal files from the law offices of Donovan Gray and pertaining to correspondence, litigation, etc., relative to what is commonly known as the Hammer Valley case.”
“You got it all last time, Frohmeyer. He’s been dead seven weeks. You think he’s still producing paperwork.”
“I’m just following orders.”
“Right, right. Look, Mr. Frohmeyer, his files are still over there, across the street. The file I have here is his probate file. We’re not involved in the litigation. Understand? It’s not complicated.”
“I have my orders.”
Hump made a noisy entrance, barking, “I represent the clinic. What the hell is this all about?” Annette and Samantha were watching from their open doors.
Mattie said, “Hump, this is Agent Frohmeyer, the leader of this little posse. He thinks he has the right to take all of our files and computers.”
Annette suddenly barked, “Like hell you do. I don’t have a single piece of paper in my office that’s even remotely related to Donovan Gray or any of his cases. What I do have is an office full of sensitive and confidential files and cases involving such things as divorce, child molestation, domestic abuse, paternity, addiction and rehab, mental incompetency, and a long sad list of human misery. And you, sir, are not entitled to see any of it. If you try to touch any of it, I’ll resist with all the physical might I can muster. Arrest me if you will, but I promise you first thing tomorrow morning I’ll file a federal lawsuit with your name, Mr. Frohmeyer, and the names of the rest of you goons, front and center, as defendants. After that, I’ll hound you to hell and back.”
It took a lot to stun a tough guy like Frohmeyer, but for a second his shoulders slumped, slightly. The other four listened wide-eyed and uncertain. Samantha almost laughed out loud. Mattie was actually grinning.
“Very well put, Ms. Brevard,” Hump said. “That sums up our position nicely, and I’ll be happy to call the U.S. Attorney right now and clarify things.”
Mattie said, “There are over two hundred active files and a thousand more in storage. None of which have anything to do with Donovan Gray and his business. Do you really want to haul them back to your office and dig through them?”
Annette snarled, “Surely, you have better things to do.”
Hump raised both hands and called for quiet. Frohmeyer stiffened his back and glared at Samantha. “We’ll start with your office. If we find what we’re looking for, we’ll take it and leave.”
“And what might that be?”
“Read the search warrant.”
Hump asked, “How many files do you have, Ms. Kofer?”
“Around fifteen, I think.”
Hump said, “Okay, let’s do this. Let’s place her files on the conference room table and you boys have a look. Go through her office and inspect whatever you want, but before you remove anything let’s have a chat. Okay?”
“We’re taking her computers, desktop and laptop,” Frohmeyer said.
The sudden interest in Samantha’s files was puzzling to Mattie and Annette. Samantha shrugged as if she had no idea. “My laptop is not here,” she said.
“Where is it?” Frohmeyer snapped.
“The technician has it. Some type of bug, I think.”
“When did you take it in?”
Hump threw up another hand. “She doesn’t have to answer that. The search warrant doesn’t give you the right to interrogate potential witnesses.”
Frohmeyer took a deep breath, fumed for a second, then gave them a sappy grin. He followed Samantha to her office and watched closely as she removed her files from the army surplus cabinet. “Nice place you got here,” he said like a real smart-ass. “Won’t take long to search this office.” Samantha ignored him. She carried her files to the conference room where Banahan and another agent began flipping through them. She returned to her office and watched Frohmeyer slowly poke through her two file cabinets and the drawers to her rickety desk. He touched every piece of paper but took nothing. She hated him for invading her private space.
One agent followed Mattie into her office; another followed Annette. Drawer by drawer, they looked at all the files but removed nothing. Hump walked from door to door, watching and waiting for an altercation.
“Are all the laptops gone?” Frohmeyer asked Hump when he finished digging through Samantha’s office.
Annette heard the question and said, “Yes, we sent them all together.”
“How convenient. Guess we’ll be back with another search warrant.”
“All fun and games.”
They picked through hundreds of retired files. Three of them climbed into the attic and pulled out records Mattie hadn’t seen in decades. The excitement gave way to monotony. Hump sat in the hallway and shot the bull with Frohmeyer while the ladies tried to return calls. After two hours, the raid lost steam and the agents left, taking with them nothing but Samantha’s desktop computer.
As she watched it leave, she felt like the helpless victim in a backward country where the police ran rampant and rights were nonexistent. It was simply wrong. She was being bullied by the cops because of her association with Jeff. Now her property was being confiscated, and her clients’ confidentiality was compromised. She had never felt so helpless.
The last thing she needed was a good grilling at the hands of Mattie and Annette. They had to be highly suspicious of her at this point. How much did she know about the Krull matter? What had Jeff told her? Had she seen any of the documents? She managed to sneak out the back door and retrieve the flash drives and spy phone from the law library. She went for another long drive. Jeff was not answering the phone and this irritated her. Right now she needed him.
Mattie was waiting when she returned to the office at dark. The laptops were back, safe and untouched.
“Let’s go sit on the porch and have a glass of wine,” Mattie said. “We need to talk.”
“Is Chester cooking?”
“Well, we never skip dinner.”
They had a nice stroll to Mattie’s house and decided along the way it was too chilly for porch sitting. Chester was busy elsewhere, so they were alone. They sat in the den and had a sip or two before Mattie said, “Now, tell me everything.”
“Okay.”