James Grippando - A King's ransom

“That was amazing,” she said.

“You’re not kidding.”

“And you didn’t even need any help from your girlfriend.”

I did a double take, then realized that she was playing on Duncan’s little jab at the beginning. “Oh, right.”

The doors in the back of the courtroom creaked open. “Nick,” Duncan shouted, his voice booming through the courtroom. “We need you.”

Jenna and I hurried up the aisle, out the door. Maggie was pacing nervously in the courtyard, smoking a cigarette. She walked up to me and said, “I know you’re bluffing.”

“Do you?”

“You know there’s no way Mr. Ochoa is going to walk into this courtroom.”

“The question is, do you know that?”’

Her eyes narrowed. She looked ready to hit me. Duncan touched her shoulder, forcing her to step back.

“Let’s keep our heads about this,” he said. “I suggest that we all go back to the office and see if we can’t work something out.”

“No,” I said.

Jenna gasped. Now I thought she was going to hit me.

“No?” said Duncan.

“I’m not going anywhere. If you want to settle, it’s right here, right now. No more delays. No more stonewalling. Three million dollars, and not a penny less. Period.”

Maggie’s face reddened. The hatred for me was obvious, not for what I was doing now but for what I’d discovered-about her.

“All right,” said Maggie, her eyes narrowing. “You can have three million. But that buys your silence. We sign a strict confidentiality agreement that prohibits you from breathing a word about this to the press, to the police, to anyone.”

“No way on earth.”

“No confidentiality, no money.”

Part of me said take the money and ignore the agreement. But that would have made me no better than her. “I’m not signing any agreement. Three million dollars is what it takes to keep me from calling Jaime Ochoa to the witness stand right now and from calling every news station in Miami to come down here and listen to him.”

She stared me down coldly, but I didn’t flinch. “One point five million. No agreement of confidentiality. Take it, you cocky son of a bitch, before I change my mind.” She stepped closer and said, “I swear, even if Jaime Ochoa does walk into that courtroom, we’ll appeal. It’ll be years before you get dime one to buy back your father.”

It pained me to compromise, but at bottom I was bluffing about Ochoa’s willingness to testify. And if I were to drag him here, his recollection of the garbage disposal surely wouldn’t include the part where he pulled the knife. With a Sunday deadline, I didn’t see a choice.

I looked her straight in the eye and said, “Deal.”

She looked stunned, as if the last thing she’d expected was for me to leave money on the table today so that justice could be done later. But for no amount of cash could this company buy my eternal silence.

“Let’s tell the judge,” said Duncan. He pulled Maggie away. Side by side, they returned to the courtroom. Jenna and I followed. The bailiff went for the judge. In less than a minute she was back on the bench, all parties standing before her.

Duncan said, “Your honor, the parties have reached a settlement.”

“Is that true, Mr. Rey?”

I had a moment’s hesitation, imagining the look on Alex’s face when I told her that we were short by a million and a half dollars. But I had to take what I could get. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Glad to hear it. File a notice of dismissal once you’ve finalized matters.” She rose, then looked at me and said, “Good luck to your father. I mean that.”

“We’ll need it,” I said quietly.

She banged her gavel and stepped down.

For a moment I couldn’t move, paralyzed by my own mixed emotions. I was relieved finally to have something with which to bargain for my father’s freedom. But I was so angry that I’d had to fight so hard to get less than everything from the very bastards who’d gotten him kidnapped.

Jenna touched my hand, as if sensing my ambivalence. “Come on, Nick.”

I followed her back to our table to collect our briefcases. I felt as though I were moving in slow motion. Finally Duncan crossed to our side of the courtroom and handed me a yellow sheet of legal paper that he’d folded into thirds.

“Here’s a list of information we’ll need from you to wire the funds,” he said.

“I’m pretty familiar with what’s necessary.”

He pressed the paper into my hand. “In this case there are some special instructions.”

I looked at him, puzzled. Without another word he turned and started down the center aisle with his client.

I had a sick feeling that he was up to his tricks. I quickly unfolded the note, dreading what I might read. Immediately I saw that it had nothing to do with wiring instructions. But it wasn’t even close to what I’d feared.

It was a quote attributed to the centuries-old teachings of the Talmud. It read, “The duty of ransoming captives supersedes charity to the poor.”

I faced the rear of the courtroom and caught sight of Duncan just as he was heading out the door. He glanced my way, pausing a moment till his eyes met mine. No words were exchanged. He simply gave a quick nod, then continued out behind his client.

“What was that all about?” asked Jenna.

“What?”

“That little thing between you and Duncan.”

I tucked the note in my pocket. “I’m not sure.”

I picked up my briefcase and started out, wondering if the note was simply Duncan’s way of wishing me and my father well, no hard feelings.

Or was he trying to tell me that he was “A Friend”?

Idrove straight from the courthouse to the FBI field office. All along I’d felt that if I had a friend at the FBI, it was Agent Nettles, the first agent who’d visited my mother after the kidnapping. Maybe I was kidding myself, maybe I just wanted to prove to the FBI that my family wasn’t at all the way Agent Huitt had painted us. Whatever it was, I called Nettles on his cell phone to give him an inkling of my discovery.

Less than a minute after my arrival, Nettles and I were in the office of Raul Carreras, the assistant special agent in charge, the second-highest-ranking agent in the office. I had the distinct feeling that my case had been assigned a new level of priority. They listened, took notes, sipped coffee from big blue mugs emblazoned with the FBI shield. When I’d finished, the men exchanged glances.

Agent Carreras looked at me and said, “Explain to me again how Mr. Ochoa came to tell you all this.”

It made me nervous, that being the first question. “Like I said, I threatened to go to the state attorney. He pulled a knife. There was a skirmish and. . well, I sort of forced it out of him.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘forced’?”

“In the fight he broke his wrist.”

“And then what? You threatened to break his other one if he didn’t talk?”

“No. The wrist got caught up in the garbage disposal.”

Carreras leaned back, stroking his mustache. “I’m having trouble visualizing. How does that happen?”

“I sort of forced it in.”

“Did you turn it on?” he asked, grimacing.

I felt as if I were shrinking before their eyes. This was the cross-examination I’d feared, the reason I couldn’t possibly have called Ochoa as a witness in my hearing. “I only threatened to turn it on.”

Once again they exchanged glances. “I see,” said Nettles.

Carreras leaned forward, elbows atop his desk. “Let me get this straight. Your evidence so far comes from a fired employee who promised to say bad things about his former employer if you would pay him fifty thousand dollars, and who ultimately ended up spilling his guts after you threatened to make his left hand suitable for Hamburger Helper.”