Miz Sarah Strikes Back

The two of them looked sheepishly at each other. The way they were fidgeting put me in mind of a couple of elementary school students who were eager to please but unable to answer the teacher's question. Finally, Emily said, "Miz Sarah, we spent hours together going over everything again and again, but all we could find was one little coincidence that doesn't seem very important."

"Well, child," I asked, "what is it?"

I think she wished now she hadn't mentioned it, but she finally said, "Well, we did notice that Bolger, Willingham and Howe and Hamilton Johnson both have their offices in the same building. But I don't see how that matters."

I smiled at Emily and said, "That's alright, honey, you and Stephen have done great. Besides, Mr. Rayford brought that same coincidence to my attention."

Emily was silent, but Stephen was unabashed. "What difference could that make, Miz Sarah? That just made it easier for Lola to go see her attorney when she needed legal advice."

"You're absolutely right, Stephen, but you have to concede there sure are a lot of coincidences in this case."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, it's late and I have a lot of work to do between now and tomorrow afternoon. Why don't the two of you go grab a bite to eat? I'll see you tomorrow in time for us all to drive over to Peachtree Street together."

I wasn't exaggerating when I told the young pair I had a lot of preparing to do. It took me late that night and all morning long to get everything just the way I wanted it. I was tired but happy with what I had done, and glad that we'd soon be able to put an end to this game we'd been playing.

The three of us drove over to the Bolger, Willingham and Howe offices in virtual silence. Between the oppressive heat outside the car and the nerves we all were feeling inside, idle conversation was kept to a minimum.

Once again we were ushered into the sterile, over-sized conference room I had shared with Mr. Jenkins previously. And once again we were made to wait, this time a full 20 minutes. "He must be very confident today," I thought.

Finally Mr. Jenkins made his grand entrance, mouthing insincere apologies for his lateness. "So sorry to have kept you waiting," he proffered, "I had an overseas call that ran late."

"No need to apologize, Mr. Jenkins," I replied with a little smile, "we all know what an important man you are."

Jenkins's head came up just for a second; I think he was wondering if I was being sarcastic or just polite.

At that moment there was a quiet tap on the door, and Mr. Jenkins quickly opened it to enable the young woman standing there to make her entrance. "Mrs. Cannon," Jenkins said, sounding like a tv show host, "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting Lola Martinez Markham."

I sensed Stephen tense beside me at the sight of his once loving wife. "It's not going to take him very long to get over her," I thought to myself.

Leaning across the table, I shook her hand and said, "How do you do, Mrs. Markham? I wish the circumstances of our meeting could have been different." I thought she was attractive in that glossy way so many young women affect today and that I don't think is all that becoming.

She acknowledged my greeting with a little smile and seated herself back from the table, crossing her legs so the hem of her short skirt would ride up to reveal a bit too much thigh. She wore a man-tailored blouse with enough buttons left open to display a generous amount of cleavage. "She must have dressed like that deliberately to show Stephen what he's losing," I thought wryly. "She must really want to hurt him."

After I had introduced Stephen and Emily, Jenkins appeared to want to take control of the meeting as he had done the last time. But first he turned to me with a patronizing smile and said, "I see you've brought your bag with you again, Mrs. Cannon. Will you be knitting again?"

I smiled back at him sweetly and said, "No, I need my bag for other things today."

With these pleasantries concluded, Jenkins spread his arms in a grandiose manner and said, "I'd like to begin our session by reviewing the proposal my client has made. I think . . ."

"Excuse me," I interrupted him, "but I would like to begin our negotiations by reviewing our counter-proposal."

Jenkins was taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "Why of course, Mrs. Cannon, ladies first. We had no idea your client had an alternative to offer. We'd be most happy to hear what you have to propose."

Lola shot him an angry glance; I don't think she agreed.

I ignored their little interplay and began. "With respect to the home that Mr. and Mrs. Markham have shared, our proposal is that Mrs. Markham vacate the premises immediately, relinquishing all her rights of ownership therein to Mr. Markham."

"What!" Lola Markham shrieked. She looked at Jenkins and hollered, "She can't do that!"

Jenkins quickly put his hand on hers to silence her and then turned to me indignantly. "Mrs. Cannon, whatever could make you think Mrs. Markham would ever consent to such an outrageous proposal?"

I ignored him for the moment and turned directly to Lola. "Mrs. Markham, you are a most impressive young woman. In a scant three years you have achieved a prominence in your field that most people would spend their entire careers hoping to attain. Clearly, you have the beauty, brains and talent to take you far."

Although Lola was clearly still annoyed at the proposal I had just put on the table, I could see that she registered my compliments. "Little miss narcissus," I thought.

"However, even with such remarkable qualities," I continued, "it seems to me that it would have been difficult for anyone to have accomplished so much in so little time -- I paused -- without the use of other talents, such as these."

With that, I reached into the bag in my lap and extracted a photograph that I passed across the table to her, face down. When she turned it over and looked at it, she gasped. "Where in the hell did you get that?" she screamed at me.

Jenkins quickly grabbed the photo from her and gaped in astonishment as he realized what he was seeing. In black and white the photograph clearly showed Lola Markham lying on a desk with her skirt hiked up to her waist and her breasts bared. Between her legs was an older man who was very energetically enjoying Mrs. Markham's most intimate charms.

Stephen and Emily also gasped when I passed them duplicate photos of the lewd scene, and Emily began to speak urgently to Stephan in a low voice to keep him from making any outburst. But there was no one to restrain Jenkins, and without a thought for the consequences, he blurted out, "Who in heavens is that?"

"Why that," I said, "is Mr. Warren Lewison, the managing director of the Atlanta office of Hamilton Johnson. I believe, Mrs. Markham, that he is your boss."

As Jenkins sat gawping at the print, I observed drily, "It would appear that your client has not been completely forthcoming with regard to the reason she is seeking a divorce."

Lola began to talk angrily, but Jenkins, to his credit, regained his composure and shot her a steely glance that caused her to fall silent.

"While this photograph of what appears to be a little, er, office romance is unfortunate," Jenkins blustered, "it has no bearing on the case before us. The State of Georgia has a no-fault statute, and does not take the cause of a divorce action into consideration. Any purported infidelity would be irrelevant in a court of law."

"Besides," he continued, gathering strength, "there's no way to tell when this liaison took place. It could very well have occurred after Mrs. Markham determined to bring her marriage to an end. Any relationships developed after notice has been given would be ex post facto."

"All that is very true, Mr. Jenkins," I acknowledged. "But if you and Mrs. Markham will look carefully at the setting of her little tryst, you'll see that it was conducted at the offices of Hamilton Johnson, in this very building. It's my belief that if the existence of this relationship and its consummation on these premises were to be made known to the directors and shareholders of Hamilton Johnson, they would not be very forgiving. In the first place, what they're doing is in clear violation of the corporation's Ethics Policy, which prohibits any such relationship between executive and subordinate. Secondly, they might draw some unfortunate conclusions about the real reason for Mrs. Markham's remarkable rise through the ranks."

As the significance of what I had said sank in to the unhappy pair across from us, I offered them a lifeline. "I see no necessity, however, for such unpleasantries. There is no need for anyone else to see this photograph or consider its significance -- if we can all agree on our proposal regarding the Markham home."

Jenkins and Lola immediately began a whispered conversation. While the words exchanged between them were inaudible, the tone of the conversation was quite clear.

I looked around to see how Stephen and Emily were doing. Emily, bless her heart, had been shocked by the photograph, but she had recovered and was now doing her best to calm Stephen down. As I saw her glare across the table, however, I doubted that she would "friend" Lola Markham on Facebook.

Stephen's face was a mix pain and anger. Unfortunately, I had seen that particular combination on the faces of clients many times before.

Turning back to Jenkins and Lola, I interrupted their little tete-a-tete by loudly clearing my throat. "We now turn to our second counterproposal. This one concerns custody of their daughter Anita. We propose that Stephen Markham, her father, shall have full custody of his daughter, with Lola Markham having limited right of visitation only at the father's discretion."

Lola and Jenkins were clearly astounded, and Jenkins could not restrain himself. "Mrs. Cannon, this is impossible! No court would ever grant sole custody to the father unless the mother were behind bars in jail! This is preposterous!"

"It's funny you should mention that, Mr. Jenkins," I responded calmly. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to review this letter." Again I reached into my bag and distributed copies of a document to all parties at the table.

The letter was written on the stationery of a major art dealer in New York City and was addressed to Mr. Roger Avery. The gist of the letter was a proposal from the New York dealer to purchase a number of works by Richard Markham for an extremely handsome sum.

Jenkins face reflected his bewilderment. "I don't see what this has to do with our discussion this afternoon."

Before I could respond, Stephen could no longer contain himself. "Wait a minute! This letter is dated over a month ago. Avery never told me about this! I never knew about any deal to sell my paintings!"

"That's right, Stephen," I said, "you didn't know about it, but I suspect that Mr. Avery may have shared this information with your wife." That good lady refused to meet my eyes, so I pressed on. "I kept asking myself why she was so insistent on keeping Stephen's paintings when she'd never expressed any particular interest in them before. This letter suggests an answer."

Jenkins struggled to reassert himself. "This is slanderous," he said loudly. "You're making wild accusations. You have no proof that my client had any knowledge of this letter. You don't even know that there was any fraud. Jenkins could have misplaced the offer or forgotten about it, for all we know."

A fresh idea struck Jenkins. "Besides, Avery had nothing to gain from any sort of collusion. He'd have been paid his commission on the sale of the paintings, regardless of who owned them."

"Why I thought the very same thing, Mr. Jenkins, until I saw this." Reaching into my bag for the third time, I pulled out another set of photographs and passed them around the room.

There was a stunned silence as everyone stared at the sight of Lola Markham on her hands and knees, performing oral sex on a gentleman obviously in the throes of an orgasm.

"That's Roger Avery," whispered Stephen, confirming what everyone else either knew or had guessed.

I had to wait until the hubbub that followed had died down before I could speak again. As before, I directed my remarks to Lola Markham. "Conspiracy to commit fraud is a felony, my dear. If I were to present this letter and this photograph to the authorities, I believe they would have no hesitation in handing down an indictment."

"No!" she screamed, "you can't prove it. You can't do this to me."

I smiled thinly at her. "As it happens, I'm having dinner next week with the state Attorney General, who's an old friend of mine. Would you like me to bring these to his attention?"

Jenkins turned to Lola and howled in frustration, "Just shut up! You're only making it worse for yourself."

As her protests subsided, I moved to fill the silence. "Once again, my client and I have no particular wish for his daughter to undergo the shame of having a convicted felon for a mother. If we can agree on the custody arrangement that we have proposed, with full child support from Lola, of course, I think we can spare everyone the pain an investigation, trial and likely conviction would entail."

I looked directly at Jenkins and added, "Wouldn't you agree that the court would be amenable to giving primary custody to the father if he had the written agreement of the mother?"

Jenkins wouldn't look at me or his client now. In a defeated tone, he muttered, "I'm sure that will be perfectly acceptable, Mrs. Cannon."

"Well, if we're in agreement on our two counterproposals, that leaves only one last item," I continued brightly.

"Oh my God, what now?" Jenkins moaned.

I frowned at his taking the Lord's name in vain, but decided to ignore the blasphemy and continue.

"The last item for discussion is the bill for the time my firm has spent on this matter. Given the circumstances that required my client to seek legal counsel in the first place, we feel it is only appropriate that Bolger, Willingham and Howe assume full responsibility for the bill."

Saying this, I reached in my bag and extracted a copy of the statement of my legal fees. I slid it across the table to Jenkins. As he began to look it over, he blanched. "The hourly rate you're asking is higher than what our senior partners charge," he protested.

Then he stopped short as he realized what I had just said. "Wait a minute," he backpedaled. "You mean you're asking my client to pay your fee, right? You said Bolger, Willingham and Howe would pay, that was a mistake."

"I know what I said, young man, and that's exactly what I meant. I expect the law firm of Bolger, Willingham and Howe to pay this bill in full," I said determinedly.

"This is unbelievable," Jenkins protested. "One law firm doesn't pay another attorney's fees. My boss would laugh me out of his office if I were to bring your bill to him!"

"Not if you give him this along with it," I said, reaching into my bag for the last time. When he looked at the photograph I gave him, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. "That's Robert Willingham, our managing partner," he said in astonishment.

"Indeed it is," I replied vindictively, "and he seems to be enjoying the pleasure of Mrs. Markham's oral services every bit as much as Roger Avery did."

"As an active member of the Georgia State Bar Association's Ethics Committee, I know that engaging in sexual relations with a client is grounds for disbarment," I said sweetly. "So I suggest you take my bill along with this photograph to Robert and ask that he pay it promptly."

As I closed my bag, I thought of one more thing: "And when you see him, tell him Sarah Cannon said to keep it in his pants!"

With that, the three of us rose to depart. Lola Markham was weeping on the table; she refused to look at Stephen as we passed behind her. He carefully avoided looking at her as well, I noticed, but there was a sneer on his lips as he passed her.

Richard Jenkins sat slumped in his chair, staring at the wall. My guess was he was wondering if his law career was about to come to an abrupt end.

As we opened the door, I turned toward him again. "One suggestion, Mr. Jenkins." He looked at me, a beaten man. "The next time you invite a lady to an engagement, don't keep her waiting."

I refused to permit any discussion of the afternoon's triumph until we had successfully navigated Atlanta's dysfunctional roadways and were safely back in my office. Then I allowed the celebration to begin. Stephen and Emily were dancing with one another in glee. I passed out glasses of sweet tea.

Emily could scarcely contain herself. "Oh, Stephen, did you see the look on Lola's face when Miz Sarah handed her those pictures? It serves the bitch right!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Sarah," she apologized, her face flushing yet again.

"Under the circumstances," I smiled at her, "I think you can be forgiven. In fact, under the circumstances, I would have to agree with your assessment of the lady."

"But those pictures," Stephen protested, "however did you obtain them?"

"For those, my dear, we have Lucius Rayford to thank."

Both of them looked at me in puzzlement.

"You see," I explained, "Lucius Rayford is the owner of one of the largest janitorial services in Atlanta. His firm has the contract to clean the building in which both Bolger, Willingham and Hamilton Johnson are located. I simply asked him to put a couple of wireless digital cameras in certain offices and let me know what they picked up."

"But Roger Avery's office isn't located on Peachtree Street," Stephen pointed out. "How did you get that shot of Lola -- um -- doing it with him?"

"Lucius may not own the only janitorial service in Atlanta, but he is friends with the owners of most of the others. It wasn't hard for him to ask a favor of the people who service Avery's building."

"How could you know that Lola was, er, consorting with all those people in the first place?" Emily wondered.

"I didn't know that, of course, but my suspicions were raised when you pointed out how quickly she had risen at Hamilton Johnson. They have their pick of top graduates for their program; I even know one of them came from Agnes Scott. Yet out of so many talented people, Lola was the only one who had that sort of career progression. I had to wonder why."

"But how in the world did you know about Roger Avery?" Stephen wondered.

"I would never have thought twice about him," I admitted, "until Emily pointed out that he was Lola's client. That could have just been a coincidence, but I thought it was odd when you told me you were served with papers in his office. How would the process server know to be there at exactly the right time if Avery hadn't tipped Lola off? And finally, why would Lola be so dead set on keeping Stephen's paintings that, as far as we knew, had no great value?

"When I put all that together, I got Lucius to ask his friend to snoop around Avery's office to see if he could find any correspondence with Stephen's name on it. And, of course, I got him to plant the camera at the same time."

"And the old guy at Jenkins' law firm? What about him?" Emily asked.

"Oh, Robert Willingham," I said, "that was easy. Hiring Bolger, Willingham to represent someone in a divorce case is a little like using a sledge hammer to kill a mosquito. Not only is it overkill but it would be far too expensive. The cost to maintain that monstrosity of an office alone has driven Bolger, Wllingham's fees through the roof. How could Lola possibly afford a firm like that, even on her salary?

"Besides, regardless of the fact that Lola was their PR representative, a major corporate law firm just wouldn't take on a divorce case under normal circumstances. So I just went looking for the unusual circumstances. Guess I found them," I grinned.