Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

Suddenly, the door to the office flew open. “What the hell are you doing?” Conrad asked Jared.

Without a word, Jared pulled back and took a swing at Conrad. Easily dodging the punch, Conrad grabbed Jared’s arm and, in one motion, twisted it behind his back and slammed him facedown on Sara’s desk.

“Get the hell off me,” Jared said as people began to collect outside the office.

“Conrad, let him go,” Sara said.

Releasing Jared, Conrad said, “Don’t ever try to hit me again. Next time I’ll break your arm.”

“Next time I’ll connect,” Jared warned.

“We’ll see.”

Jared took one last look at his wife, then pushed through the small group of onlookers and made his way to the elevators.

“What was that about?” Conrad asked Sara.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” she mumbled.

“I didn’t ask how you were doing. I asked-”

“It’ll be okay,” she added, turning away from Conrad. “I’ll get through it.”

When he got out of Sara’s office building, Jared headed straight for the Franklin Street subway. As he ran down the stairs, he could hear the rumble of a train pulling into the station. He cleared the turnstile just as the light chime sounded that preceded the closing of the doors. He made a mad dash for the train. “Hold it!” he screamed to one of the train’s conductors, who was leaning out a window. But the doors shut in his face.

“C’mon,” he said, hitting the doors. “Open up!”

The doors stayed shut.

“Please!” he yelled. He wedged his fingers into the protective rubber between the doors and attempted to pull them open. They stayed shut.

“No!” he protested, once again banging the doors with his fists. As the train slowly pulled away from the platform, Jared ran with it, hoping to somehow still climb aboard. “ C’mon! ” he screamed. “ Don’t fuckin’ leave! ” But the train plowed forward and picked up speed, even as the tears rolled down Jared’s cheeks. It was no use. He couldn’t stop it. In a flash, the train was gone, and Jared stood on the platform. Alone.

A half hour after Jared left, Sara called her husband’s office. “Is he back yet?” Sara asked Kathleen.

“Not yet,” Kathleen said. “I’ll leave him a message you called.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sara called again.

“Sorry,” Kathleen said. “Still not back.”

Hanging up, Sara called home. Then she called Pop’s apartment. Nothing but answering machines.

Ten minutes passed before she tried his office again.

When Kathleen answered, she said, “Sara, I promise, the moment he comes in here, I’ll have him call you.”

A half hour later, Sara’s phone rang. “Jared?” she answered.

“It’s me,” Kathleen said. “He just walked in.”

“Please put him on.”

“I already asked him, but he doesn’t want to take your call. I just figured you’d want to know that he’s back here safe and sound.”

“No, I do,” Sara said. “Thanks, Kathleen.”

“Jared?” Sara called out when she got home that evening. “Are you here?”

When she didn’t get an answer, she walked to Jared’s closet in the bedroom and opened it up. It was cleaned out. All of his suits were gone. So were his shirts. All that remained were some bad ties and empty hangers. “No. No, no, no.” She ran to his dresser and yanked the top drawer open. Empty, it came flying from the dresser, catching Sara by surprise. Throwing it aside, she pulled open the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Socks, underwear, and undershirts were all missing. “You can’t leave!” she yelled, slamming the last drawer shut. “Not now.” She had never expected it to happen like this. Everything had been going her way. She had the research, and the evidence, and the motions, and even the judge. It was all supposed to work out. It was all supposed to be okay. But as Sara hid her head in her hands, she knew that when all was said and done, it wasn’t going to be much of a victory.

Jared dragged his stuffed-to-capacity hanging bag through the stark white halls of New York Hospital. He took the elevator to the tenth floor and made his way to room 206. Leaving his luggage outside the room, he knocked on the door.

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally decided to pay a visit,” Pop said as Jared walked inside. “What brings you here? I mean, besides guilt.”

“Can’t I just say hello? Phone calls are fine, but there’s nothing like a personal visit.”

“Jared, that moonshine might work with those gullible, group-thinking juries, but I’m not buying a drop of it. The only reason you’re here is either, one, Sara made you come; or two, you’re in trouble.”

“Don’t say that, Pop. With my parents and grandmothers in Chicago, you’re the only family I have in New York.”

“Okay, so you’re in trouble. How much money do you need?”

“I don’t need any money,” Jared said, pulling a chair up to Pop’s bed. “Now why don’t you tell me how you’re doing. When are they letting you out of here?”

“When I’m better. Or if you want to believe my doctor, when they can get me walking again, which could be anywhere from two weeks to a month. There – now you’ve paid your moral debt. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Jared said, forcing confidence into his voice. “Sara and I are just struggling with this case we’re both working on.”

“The Kozlow case.”

“Yeah, how’d you-”

“What, you think I’m not listening when my granddaughter speaks to me? My ears may be longer and hairier than yours, but they work just as well. And I knew from the moment this case started it would be a mess. You and Sara are competitive enough – you don’t need a trial to put you at each other’s throats.”

“It’s not the trial so much as what’s going on around it.”

“What else is going on? Is she sick? Pregnant? Are you finally going to wise up and have a kid?”

“No, Pop, she’s not pregnant,” Jared said, fidgeting with the nurse’s calling device on Pop’s nightstand. “She’s just been pushing all the right buttons lately – for a while now, everything’s been going her way.”

Pop stared at Jared and smiled. Finally, he said, “You don’t like the fact that she’s beating you at your own game.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s about more than just winning-”

“Jared, you know that saying about bullshitting the bullshit artist?” Pop interrupted.

“Yeah.”

“Well, let me put it to you this way: I’m Picasso. And if you think I believe you when you tell me it’s not about winning, you’re dabbling in finger paints. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been obsessed with success. You’ve been the golden boy, and Sara’s been the one who’s struggled. But now that the shoe’s on the other foot, you’re realizing that it’s a bitch to wear high heels.”

“This has nothing to do with ego. It’s bigger than that.”

“Son, you have to listen to what you’re saying. If everything you’ve told me is true, it sounds like Sara’s going to win this case – and the only person who isn’t facing that fact is you. You may be a great lawyer, but in this instance, Sara has you against the wall. So now you have a choice: You can keep doing what you’re doing and get your rear end handed to you, you can give up and admit defeat, which I know you’ll never do, or you can talk to her and work out a resolution that leaves you both happy. The decision is yours.”

With his eyes glued to the emergency call device in his hands, Jared knew that Pop was right about one thing: If he didn’t take drastic action soon, he was going to lose the case. And if he lost the case… Jared looked up at Pop, unwilling to entertain the consequences.