Jeffery Deaver: The Twelfth Card

Rhyme looked at Wesley Goades. “You’re up.”

The lawyer glanced briefly at the people across the table, then down again. The man simply could not hold eye contact. Nor was he given to Rhyme’s pointed explanations – and occasional digressions. He said simply, “We’re here to inform you that Ms. Settle intends to file a lawsuit against your bank seeking restitution for her loss.”

Hanson frowned and looked at Cole, who gave them a sympathetic look. “On the facts that you’ve given me, making a tortious claim against the bank for infliction of emotional distress probably wouldn’t get very far. See, the problem is that Mr. Ashberry was acting on his own, not as a bank officer. We’re not responsible for his actions.” A glance toward Goades, which may or may not have been condescending. “As your fine counsel here will tell you.”

Hanson added quickly to Geneva, “But, we’re very sympathetic to what you went through.” Stella Turner nodded. They seemed to mean this sincerely. “We’ll make it up to you.” He offered a smile. “I think you’ll find we can be pretty generous.”

His lawyer added what he had to: “Within reason.”

Rhyme regarded the bank president closely. Gregory Hanson seemed nice enough. Boyishly fifties, an easy smile. Probably one of those natural-born businessmen – the sort who was a decent boss and family man, did his job competently, worked long hours for the shareholders, flew coach on the company dime, remembered his employees’ birthdays.

The criminalist almost felt bad about what was coming next.

Wesley Goades, however, exhibited no remorse whatsoever as he said, “Mr. Hanson, the loss we’re talking about isn’t your corporate officer’s attempted murder of Ms. Settle – which is how we phrase the act – not ‘emotional distress.’ No, her suit is on behalf of Charles Singleton’s heirs, to recover the property stolen by Hiram Sanford, as well as monetary damages -”

“Wait,” the president whispered, giving a faint laugh.

“- damages equal to the rents and profits that your bank has made from that property from the date the court transferred title.” He consulted a piece of paper. “That’d be August 4, 1868. The money’ll be placed in a trust for the benefit of all of Mr. Singleton’s descendants, with distribution to be supervised by the court. We don’t have the actual figure yet.” Finally Goades looked up and held Hanson’s eye. “But we’re ballparking it conservatively at around nine hundred and seventy million dollars.”

“ That’s what William Ashberry was willing to kill for,” Rhyme explained. “To keep the theft of Charles’s property a secret. If anybody found out and his heirs made a claim, it would be the end of the real estate division and might even drive the entire Sanford Bank into bankruptcy.”

“Oh, well, now, this’s absurd,” the lawyer across the table from them blustered. The two legal opponents were equally tall and skinny, though Cole had a better tan. Rhyme suspected that Wesley Goades didn’t get out on tennis courts or golf courses very often. “Look around you. The blocks’re developed! Every square inch is built on.”

“We have no claim to the construction,” Goades said, as if this were clear. “We only want title to the land, and the rents that’ve been paid with respect to it.”

“For a hundred and forty years? ”

“It’s not our problem that that’s when Sanford robbed Charles.”

“But most of the land’s been sold off,” Hanson said. “The bank only owns the two apartment buildings on this block and this mansion.”

“Well, naturally we’ll be instituting an accounting action to trace the proceeds of the property your bank illegally sold.”

“But we’ve been disposing of parcels for over a hundred years.”

Goades spoke to the tabletop. “I’ll say again: your problem, not ours.”

“No,” Cole snapped. “Forget it.”

“Ms. Settle is actually being quite restrained in her damage claim. There’s a good argument to be made for the fact that without her ancestor’s property, your bank would have gone under altogether in the eighteen sixties and that she’s entitled to all of your worldwide earnings. But we’re not seeking that. She doesn’t want the present shareholders of the bank to suffer too much.”

“Damn generous,” the lawyer muttered.

“It was her decision. I was in favor of closing you down.”

Cole leaned forward. “Listen, why don’t you take a reality pill here? You have no case. For one thing, the statute of limitations has run. You’ll be kicked out of court on motion.”

“Have you ever noticed,” Rhyme asked, unable to resist, “how people always lead with their weakest argument?…Sorry, forgive the footnote.”

“As for the statute,” Goades said, “we can make a solid argument that it’s been tolled and we’re entitled to bring the suit under principles of equity.”

The lawyer had explained to Rhyme that in some cases the time limit on bringing a lawsuit could be “tolled” – extended – if the defendant covers up a crime so that the victims don’t know it occurred, or when they aren’t able to sue, like when the courts and prosecutors were acting in collusion with the wrongdoer, which had happened in the Singleton case. Goades reiterated this now.

“But whatever Hiram Sanford did,” the other lawyer pointed out, “it had nothing to do with my client – the present bank.”

“We’ve traced ownership of the bank all the way back to the original Hiram Sanford Bank and Trust Limited, which was the entity that took title to the Singleton farm. Sanford used the bank as a cover. Unfortunately…for you, that is.” Goades said this as cheerfully as an unsmiling man could.

Cole wasn’t giving up. “Well, what proof do you have that the property would’ve been passed down through the family? This Charles Singleton could’ve sold it for five hundred dollars in 1870 and squandered the money away.”

“We have evidence that he intended to keep the farm in his family.” Rhyme turned to Geneva. “What did Charles say?”

The girl didn’t need to look at any notes. “In a letter to his wife he told her he never wanted to sell the farm. He said, ‘I wish the land to pass intact to our son and his issue; professions and trades ebb and flow, the financial markets are fickle, but the earth is God’s great constant – and our farm will ultimately bring to our family respectability in the eyes of those who do not respect us now. It will be our children’s salvation, and that of the generations that will follow.’”

Enjoying his role as cheerleader, Rhyme said, “Just think of how a jury’ll react to that . Not a dry eye.”

Cole leaned forward angrily toward Goades. “Oh, I know what’s going on here. You’re making it sound like she’s a victim. But this’s just blackmail. Like all the rest of the slavery reparations bullshit, right? I’m sorry Charles Singleton was a slave. I’m sorry he or his father, or whoever, was brought here against his will.” Cole waved his arm, as if shooing away a bee, and glanced at Geneva. “Well, young lady, that was a long, long time ago. My great-grandfather died of black lung. You don’t see me suing West Virginia Coal and Shale, looking for some easy money. You people have to get over it. Just get on with your lives. If you spent as much time – ”

“Hold up,” Hanson snapped. Both he and his assistant glared at the lawyer.

Cole licked his lips and then sat back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I said ‘you people’ but I didn’t mean…” He was looking at Wesley Goades.