James Grippando - Found money

The doors opened to a spacious lobby. Silk wall coverings and cherry wainscoting lent the desired air of prestige and power. The floors were polished marble with elaborate inlaid borders worthy of the Vatican. A wall of windows faced west, with a breathtaking view of jagged mountaintops in the distance. Ryan would have guessed he was in the right place

from the impressive decor alone, but the shiny brass letters on the wall confirmed his arrival at Wedderburn and Jackson, P.A.

A far cry from the clinic, thought Ryan.

Ryan felt sorely underdressed in his khaki pants and blazer, no tie. He had read somewhere that even stodgy law firms had caught on to the “casual Friday” dress code that was all the rage in the corporate world. If that was the case, the normal dress at this place must have been black tie and tails.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Ryan turned. The young woman at the reception desk had caught him wandering like a lost tourist. “I’m Ryan Duffy. My lawyer and I are supposed to meet with Phil Jackson at two o’clock. Mr. Jackson represents my wife. We’re, uh, getting divorced.”

She smiled. It was her job to smile. Ryan could have said he was a serial killer seeking advice on the disposal of body parts and she would have smiled.

“I’ll tell Mr. Jackson you’re here,” she said cheerfully. “Please, have a seat.”

Ryan walked toward the windows, taking in the view. He was twenty minutes early. Hopefully, his lawyer would arrive soon. He had a feeling they could use a bit more preparation than the usual two-minute drill at the water cooler.

In thirty minutes, Ryan went through every magazine in the waiting area. By 2:15, his lawyer was still missing in action. At 2:20, a sharply dressed man approached, looking straight at Ryan. “Dr. Duffy, I’m Phil Jackson.”

Ryan rose from the leather couch and shook the hand of the enemy. He’d never met Liz’s lawyer, but he certainly knew the name. “Nice to meet you,” he lied.

Jackson said, “I called your lawyer’s office to see if she was coming, but she has apparently been called into court on an emergency hearing.”

“And she didn’t tell me?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m sure she tried to reach you.”

Ryan checked the pager on his belt. No message. Emergency hearing, my ass. She probably left early on another long weekend. That settled it: he needed a new lawyer. “What about our meeting, Mr. Jackson?”

“We can reschedule for another day.”

“I’ve already canceled my appointments for today. I can’t lose another day.”

“Then we’ll just have to wait for your lawyer to get here, which may be a couple more hours. However, I feel obliged to tell you my rate is three hundred an hour, including waiting time. I may represent Liz, but let’s face it. Eventually, you pay.”

Ryan glared. Jackson had taken obvious pleasure in that last remark. “You really have a way with people, you know that?”

“It’s a gift,” he said smugly.

“Let’s just start without her,” said Ryan.

“Sorry, can’t do that. The rules of ethics prevent me from negotiating directly with you if you’re represented by an attorney.”

“I just fired my attorney. So now there’s no ethical problem.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “My, you surprise me, Doctor. I had you pegged for someone who definitely felt constrained to hide behind his lady lawyer’s apron strings.”

I’m feeling constrained to punch your lights out, thought Ryan. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Right this way.” He led him down a long hall to a glass-encased conference room. The door was open. Liz was seated on the far side of the table, her back to the window. A stenographer was already set up at the head of the table.

“Hello, Liz,” he said. She replied with a weak smile.

Ryan glanced at the stenographer, then at Jackson. “What’s the court reporter here for? I thought this was an informal meeting, not a deposition.”

“No one is testifying under oath,” said Jackson. “She’s just here to take down everything we say, so there’s a record. It’s basically no different than turning on a tape recorder or having my secretary take really good notes.”

Right, thought Ryan. Only fifty times more intimidating, you son of a bitch. “I’d rather she not be here for this.”

“Why?” Jackson asked with sarcasm. “Are you one of those people who will say something only if he can reserve the right to deny he ever said it?”

Ryan glanced at the stenographer. Her fingers were moving on the keys. She’d already recorded the first pointed volley. “Fine. She can stay.”

Jackson maneuvered around the stenographer and took the seat beside Liz. Ryan took the chair on the opposite side of the table. He was facing the window. The blinds had been adjusted perfectly in advance of his arrival, so that the sun hit him directly in the eyes.

“Excuse me,” he said, squinting, “but I left my welding visor in the car. You think we could fix the blinds here?”

Jackson smirked. “Gee, I’m sorry. Let me take care of it.” He leaned back to adjust the blinds — but only a smidgen. In a few minutes, the sun would be right back in Ryan’s eyes. It was part of Jackson’s strategy, Ryan surmised. Every three or four minutes, Ryan would be staring into the sun. Anything to distract and annoy the opposition. This guy’s unbelievable.

Jackson said, “Let’s start by making it clear for the record that Dr. Duffy has fired his attorney, so he is representing himself today. Is that true, Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” said Jackson. “Let’s start our discussion with a review of the documents.”

“What documents?”

He handed one to Ryan. “This is something our accountants prepared for us. It’s a more accurate assessment of your net worth and earning potential.”

Ryan’s eyes moved immediately to the bottom line. He nearly choked. “Seven hundred thousand dollars! That’s ten times my annual income.”

“Ten times your reported annual income. Although your tax return shows a modest five-figure income, we know differently.”

Ryan glanced at Liz. Did she know about the attic? “What are you talking about?”

Jackson laid a file on the table. It contained a stack of documents nearly eight inches high. “Invoices,” he said flatly.

“Invoices for what?” asked Ryan.

“During the last eight months of your marriage, Liz took over the billing practices of your clinic. She mailed these to your patients with delinquent accounts. You don’t deny she did that, do you?”

“No, I don’t deny it. It was Liz’s idea. I told her we’d never collect, that these people couldn’t pay. She sent them anyway. But you can’t count uncollected invoices as income. That’s absurd.”

Jackson leaned forward, more than a little confrontational. “We don’t think they went uncollected.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You knew Liz was unhappy. You knew this divorce was coming long ago. We intend to prove that you accepted cash payments from patients under the table so that you could hide the money from Liz and keep it for yourself.”

“Have you lost your marbles?” He glanced at his wife. “Liz, tell him.”

She looked away.

“Dr. Duffy, the bottom line is that you owe your wife seven hundred thousand dollars in a lump sum payment, plus monthly alimony commensurate with a thriving private practice.”

“This is laughable.”

“No one’s laughing, Doctor.”

“Liz, I can’t believe you would set me up like this.”

Jackson said, “I’d appreciate it if you would direct your comments to me, Doctor. Not to your wife.”

“Naturally. I’m sure you’re the one who concocted this scheme in the first place.”