The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [80]
From the sofa in Scott’s office, Bobby said, “Seventy-five thousand bucks? Shit, I sell everything I own and pay my debts, I’m still seventy-four thousand shy of that. And you wrote a check?”
Bobby had arrived and Scott had brought him up to date.
“Yeah. But it was all of my cash.”
“You know, Scotty, McCall’s taken this way further than I thought he would. I mean, being pissed off is one thing, but trying to destroy your life, man, he’s into Stephen King territory now.”
“He can’t destroy my life, Bobby. He can take my maid, my memberships, and my cash, but he can’t destroy me. I’ve still got clients that pay me three million dollars a year.”
“Mr. Fenney?”
Sue was standing in the door.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Dibrell called, said he needs to see you ASAP.”
The beautiful blonde Dibrell Property Company receptionist did not inquire about Scott’s marital status today, and Marlene did not smile at Scott. Instead she averted her eyes as he walked past her workstation and into Tom Dibrell’s inner sanctum. From Tom’s pained expression, Scott figured he would have to negotiate sexual harassment settlements with two receptionists this time. And he wondered if he could.
“What’s up, Tom?”
Tom motioned to the sofa. “Sit down, Scott.”
Scott stepped around the coffee table, a long glass top set on a base of horseshoes laid flat and welded together. He plopped down on the soft leather and spread his arms along the top of the back. Attorney and client regarded each other across twenty feet of expensive finish-out.
“We’ve been together a long time, Scott.”
“Eleven years, Tom. As long as I’ve been a lawyer.”
“You’re the best lawyer I’ve ever had, Scott, and I’ve had more than a few.”
“Well, thanks.” He chuckled and smiled. “You know, Tom, back in college when I broke up with a girl, I’d always tell her how beautiful she was first.”
Tom nodded and exhaled. But he didn’t smile.
“We’re breaking up, Scott.”
“What?”
“You’re no longer my lawyer.”
Fear shot Scott up off the sofa and across the void to Tom’s desk. He was now looking down at his rich client, at three million in legal fees, his heartbeat increasing with each second as all the ramifications of losing Tom Dibrell as a client raced through his mind like a runaway locomotive.
“Tom…why?”
“It’s best not to go into it, Scott. It’s done.”
“But…”
“Don’t, Scott.”
Scott felt wobbly and confused, like he’d taken a blow to the head. He turned away from Tom and took several steps toward the door, and he saw something he had never seen before or had never taken the time to see. He blinked hard, his eyes and mind coming into focus simultaneously. On the wall was a framed photograph of Tom Dibrell and Senator Mack McCall at a golf tournament. He turned back to Tom, but pointed at the photo.
“It’s him, isn’t it? McCall. He made you do this.”
Their eyes locked for a long moment, then Tom’s face sagged and he nodded his head like it hurt.
“Scott, you want to know the answer to the mystery?”
“What mystery?”
“Did Oswald act alone?…What the hell mystery you think I’m talking about? How Tom Dibrell survived the real-estate crash and kept his building when everyone else failed and lost theirs.”
Scott nodded.
“McCall. He saved me. The pension fund in New York, the bastards holding the mortgage on this building—which they were trying to foreclose—they wanted legislation passed in Congress, some kind of special tax break on their investments. Mack told them if they foreclosed on me, he’d shit-can their legislation. They dropped the foreclosure. And Mack got me the contracts on the new post office building and the justice center, gave me some cash flow. He saved me, Scott, just because we’re neighbors and I send my gardener over to mow his grass. And he’s never asked me for a goddamned thing…until now. He’s like the Godfather, Scott—when he finally asks you for a favor, you don’t say no. I owe him.”
“What about me? I started working for you when other lawyers dropped