David Ellis - Breach of Trust

I knew most of the facts from the lawsuit ABW had filed when it lost the contract. The contract had been let under sealed, competitive bidding, and ABW had been the lowest bidder. But the PCB had made the decision that ABW was not “responsible” because of some prior lawsuit that had been filed over a previous catering contract. Sound familiar?

The legal memorandum in the file disqualifying ABW was crap. Everyone sued everyone these days. It was just another part of doing business. I had no doubt that the lawyer who wrote this was doing so at the direction of Charlie Cimino or someone like him.

The next part of the file was even more interesting: It was a legal document prepared by the Office of the Inspector General-I didn’t have great familiarity with that office-detailing an interview with Adalbert Wozniak over his concern with the bidding procedures for this beverage supply contract. Wozniak had apparently pleaded his case to the inspector general, who ultimately concluded, in typical bureaucratic/law enforcement jargon, that “no credible evidence existed” to indicate any impropriety in the sealed bidding process, and that the legal counsel’s determination that ABW was not a responsible bidder appeared to be “sound and even-handed.” The inspector general concluded that the matter would be “closed without referral.”

Interesting. While preparing for Hector’s corruption trial and poring over all the documents and digital records and appointment books we had reviewed from Adalbert Wozniak’s office, I had never known that Wozniak had met with the state’s inspector general. Maybe it was there and we just missed it, or maybe Joel Lightner had followed up on the lead without success. I would have to ask.

And maybe it didn’t mean a thing. But it seemed like Ernesto Ramirez thought so. I now had the “IG” to complete the nebulous initials on Ernesto’s note:

ABW > PCB > IG > CC?

ABW Hospitality had bid on a contract before the PCB; it had been the lowest bidder, which normally would have meant it got the contract, but then it was denied when the PCB determined the company was not “responsible.” Then Wozniak turned to the inspector general after being rejected. And the inspector general, if I was deciphering Ernesto’s notes correctly, had turned to Charlie Cimino. And then somebody turned to Adalbert Wozniak and pumped seven bullets into him.

I wasn’t surprised by any of this. After having spent just a few days with the Procurement and Construction Board, it was clear to me that this place was a cesspool. Adalbert Wozniak had smelled a rat and hadn’t kept quiet. He went to the inspector general and made some kind of noise-what, exactly, he’d said, I couldn’t be sure. This brief report from the inspector general, dismissing Wozniak’s claims, looked like a whitewash.

I needed to know more. And with Charlie Cimino sure to can my ass any day now, I was running out of time.

The rest of the week passed without my even thinking about the Procurement and Construction Board, or Charlie Cimino, or anyone else. I stayed home from work on Thursday, worked about a half-day on Friday, and had an uneventful weekend. Shauna and I went to a movie Saturday night, but I lost focus halfway through and then I didn’t have an appetite for dinner afterward. I was finding it hard to be interested in much of anything; I didn’t even think my disinterest was interesting. I was tired of the malaise but that probably made it even harder to shake.

I went to the state building on Monday morning, in preparation for the PCB meeting the following night. Patrick Lemke was bouncing around even more than usual. Strap a battery pack on his back and he could have been in commercials- he keeps going and going . .

Three other lawyers, also working for the PCB, were also milling about. I was introduced to each of them and forgot each of their names instantly. “You should meet Greg,” Patrick told me, meaning Greg Connolly, the chairman of the Procurement and Construction Board.

Connolly had a medium-sized office on the floor above me. Patrick knocked on the door and introduced me. The board chairman was a big guy with graying hair that he tried to tamp down with hair grease, with moderate success. He wore a nice suit but he looked like a guy who might be more comfortable at a ball game wearing a sweatshirt. He had blotchy skin and droopy eyes and was about twenty pounds overweight. “I hope Hector bought you a nice dinner afterward,” he said. It shouldn’t have surprised me that everyone around state government had taken note when the feds lost a case. It didn’t happen often.

“It was an interesting case,” I told him, because I never give an editorial on the outcome of a case to a stranger. Besides, I wasn’t sure how easily words like good or bad applied to Hector’s acquittal. I thought the feds and their stool pigeon, Joey Espinoza, had been overly ambitious, but that didn’t mean that Hector had been a Boy Scout, either.

Connolly didn’t speak for a while, preferring to nod his head and smile at me while he sized me up. “You’ve done good work so far,” he said. “I’ve seen your work product. The memo on the DOC sanitation project-the two bidders who underbid Higgins Sanitation.”

“Those bidders were well qualified,” I said.

“Course they were.” He chuckled. “Course they were. That’s why I’m saying, good job.”

Interesting that he would say that. I’d stood up to Charlie Cimino, and he seemed to be applauding me. And he was the chairman of the PCB. How did he rank compared to Cimino?

“Charlie talked to you about the bus contract, too. I saw that analysis you did.”

“There’s no way that’s a sole-source,” I said. “Providing a bus? A hundred companies could do it.”

Connolly smiled with approval. I figured there must have been some kind of rift between Cimino and him, a turf battle. He tapped his fingers on his desk. “So, again, good job on that. You’ll do very well here, Jason, if you want to.”

It wasn’t a question, as my former partner Paul Riley would have said, so I didn’t answer.

But it was interesting. Greg Connolly had summoned me to his office to give me a pat on the back for defying Charlie Cimino.

Why, I wondered, would he do that?

I hustled back to my law office, where I had a one o’clock appointment, a client who had cold-called me yesterday about representation.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said to a man sitting in our small reception area. I took him back to my office. I probably should have offered him water or coffee but didn’t. I grabbed Shauna, whom I had asked to attend the meeting, because I was told the conversation would include some transactional issues, and I only did trial work. I was hoping I could throw Shauna some work, as she had done for me several times since I moved into these digs.

“Jack Hauser,” the man said, introducing himself to Shauna and me. I could see from his hands and the weathering on his face that he worked in the trades. “Hauser Construction,” he said. “We’re located out west but we do a lot of subcontract work on jobs here in the city. Flooring, mostly.”

He gave me the skinny on why he was here. He had an airport job and the city was screwing him. Also, he wanted to form a joint venture with another company for a downstate stadium renovation-transactional work that was Shauna’s domain.

I nodded along as he spoke, scribbling notes on my pad of paper. “How’d you get my name?” I asked.

He looked surprised. Most lawyers don’t look a gift client in the mouth. “How did I–I thought you did trial work and things like this.”

“I do, sure.”

“You probably heard about that corruption case with that state senator?” Shauna said, pumping me up, and probably unhappy with the question I’d asked. It’s not good business to seem surprised that a client has come to your door. “Jason defended the senator and won.”